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[Illustration: _The Battle of Poitiers
from the painting by H. Dupray
(See page 52)_]
THE HARVARD CLASSICS
EDITED BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LLD
CHRONICLE AND ROMANCE
FROISSART--MALORY--HOLINSHED
WITH INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS
"DR ELIOT'S FIVE FOOT SHELF OF BOOKS"
1910
BY P.F. COLLIER & SON
NEW YORK
CONTENTS
THE CHRONICLES OF FROISSART, TRANSLATED BY LORD BERNERS
EDITED BY G.C. MACAULAY
The Campaign of Crecy
The Battle of Poitiers
Wat Tyler's Rebellion
The Battle of Otterburn
THE HOLY GRAIL BY SIR THOMAS MALORY
FROM THE CAXTON EDITION OF THE MORTE D'ARTHUR
A DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND
WRITTEN BY WILLIAM HARRISON FOR HOLINSHED'S CHRONICLES
CHAPTER
I. Of Degrees of People
II. Of Cities and Towns
III. Of Gardens and Orchards
IV. Of Fairs and Markets
V. Of the Church of England
VI. Of Food and Diet
VII. Of Apparel and Attire
VIII. Of Building and Furniture
IX. Of Provision for the Poor
X. Of Air, Soil, and Commodities
XI. Of Minerals and Metals
XII. Of Cattle Kept for Profit
XIII. Of Wild and Tame Fowls
XIV. Of Savage Beasts and Vermin
XV. Of Our English Dogs
XVI. Of the Navy of England
XVII. Of Kinds of Punishment
XVIII. Of Universities
THE CHRONICLES OF FROISSART
BY
JEAN FROISSART
HISTORICAL NARRATIVE OF MANY OF THE BATTLES OF THE HUNDRED YEAR'S
WAR BETWEEN ENGLAND AND FRANCE.
_INTRODUCTORY NOTE_
Jean Froissart, _the most representative of the chroniclers of the
later Middle Ages, was born at Valenciennes in 1337. The Chronicle
which, more than his poetry, has kept his fame alive, was undertaken
when he was only twenty; the first book was written in its earliest
form by 1369; and he kept revising and enlarging the work to the end
of his life. In 1361 he went to England, entered the Church, and
attached himself to Queen Philippa of Hainault, the wife of Edward
III, who made him her secretary and clerk of her chapel. Much of his
life was spent in travel. He went to France with the Black Prince, and
to Italy with the Duke of Clarence. He saw fighting on the Scottish
border, visited Holland, Savoy, and Provence, returning at intervals
to Paris and London. He was Vicar of Estinnes-au-Mont, Canon of
Chimay, and chaplain to the Comte de Blois; but the Church to him was
rather a source of revenue than a religious calling. He finally
settled down in his native town, where he died about 1410.
Froissart's wandering life points to one of the most prominent of his
characteristics as a historian. Uncritical and often inconsistent
as he is, his mistakes are not due to partisanship, for he is
extraordinarily cosmopolitan. The Germans he dislikes as unchivalrous;
but though his life lay in the period of the Hundred Years' War
between England and France, and though he describes many of the events
of that war, he is as friendly to England as to France.
By birth Froissart belonged to the bourgeoisie, but his tastes and
associations made him an aristocrat. Glimpses of the sufferings which
the lower classes underwent in the wars of his time appear in his
pages, but they are given incidentally and without sympathy. His
interests are all in the somewhat degenerate chivalry of his age, in
the splendor of courts, the pomp and circumstance of war, in tourneys,
and in pageantry. Full of the love of adventure, he would travel
across half of Europe to see a gallant feat of arms, a coronation, a
royal marriage. Strength and courage and loyalty were the virtues he
loved; cowardice and petty greed he hated. Cruelty and injustice could
not dim for him the brilliance of the careers of those brigand lords
who were his friends and patrons.
The material for the earlier part of his Chronicles he took largely
from his predecessor and model, Jean Lebel; the later books are filled
with narratives of what he saw with his own eyes, or gathered from the
lips of men who had themselves been part of what they told. This fact,
along with his mastery of a style which is always vivacious if
sometimes diffuse, accounts for the vividness and picturesqueness of
his work. The pageant of medieval life in court and camp dazzled and
delighted him, and it is as a pageant that we see the Middle Ages in
his book.
Froissart holds a distinguished place among the poets as well as the
historians of his century. He wrote chiefly in the allegorical style
then in vogue; and his poems, though cast in a mold no longer in
fashion, are fresh and full of color, and were found worthy of
imitation by Geoffrey Chaucer.
But it is as the supreme chronicler of the later age of chivalry that
he lives. "God has been gracious enough" he writes, "to permit me to
visit the courts and palaces of kings, ... and all the nobles, kings,
dukes, counts, barons, and knights, belonging to all nations, have
been kind to me, have listened to me, willingly received me, and
proved very useful to me.... Wherever I went I enquired of old knights
and squires who had shared in deeds of arms, and could speak with
authority concerning them, and also spoke with heralds in order to
verify and corroborate all that was told me. In this way I gathered
noble facts for my history, and as long as I live, I shall, by the
grace of God, continue to do this, for the more I labour at this the
more pleasure I have, and I trust that the gentle knight who loves
arms will be nourished on such noble fare, and accomplish still more."_
THE CAMPAIGN OF CRECY
HOW THE KING OF ENGLAND CAME OVER THE SEA AGAIN, TO RESCUE THEM IN
AIGUILLON
The king of England, who had heard how his men were sore constrained
in the castle of Aiguillon, then he thought to go over the sea into
Gascoyne with a great army. There he made his provision and sent for
men all about his realm and in other places, where he thought to speed
for his money. In the same season the lord Godfrey of Harcourt came
into England, who was banished out of France: he was well received
with the king and retained to be about him, and had fair lands
assigned him in England to maintain his degree. Then the king caused a
great navy of ships to be ready in the haven of Hampton, and caused
all manner of men of war to draw thither. About the feast of Saint
John Baptist the year of our Lord God MCCCXLVI., the king departed
from the queen and left her in the guiding of the earl of Kent his
cousin; and he stablished the lord Percy and the lord Nevill to be
wardens of his realm with (the archbishop of Canterbury,) the
archbishop of York, the bishop of Lincoln and the bishop of Durham;
for he never voided his realm but that he left ever enough at home to
keep and defend the realm, if need were. Then the king rode to Hampton
and there tarried for wind: then he entered into his ship and the
prince of Wales with him, and the lord Godfrey of Harcourt, and all
other lords, earls, barons and knights, with all their companies. They
were in number a four thousand men of arms and ten thousand archers,
beside Irishmen and Welshmen that followed the host afoot.
Now I shall name you certain of the lords that went over with king
Edward in that journey. First, Edward his eldest son, prince of Wales,
who as then was of the age of thirteen years or thereabout,[1] the
earls of Hereford, Northampton, Arundel, Cornwall, Warwick,
Huntingdon, Suffolk, and Oxford; and of barons the lord Mortimer, who
was after earl of March, the lords John, Louis and Roger of Beauchamp,
and the lord Raynold Cobham; of lords the lord of Mowbray, Ros, Lucy,
Felton, Bradestan, Multon, Delaware, Manne,[2] Basset, Berkeley, and
Willoughby, with divers other lords; and of bachelors there was John
Chandos, Fitz-Warin, Peter and James Audley, Roger of Wetenhale,
Bartholomew of Burghersh, and Richard of Pembridge, with divers other
that I cannot name. Few there were of strangers: there was the earl
Hainault,[3] sir Wulfart of Ghistelles, and five or six other knights
of Almaine, and many other that I cannot name.
[1] He was in fact sixteen; born 15th June 1330.
[2] Probably 'Mohun'.
[3] The usual confusion between 'comté' and 'comte.' It means,
'of the county of Hainault there was sir Wulfart of Ghistelles,'
etc.
Thus they sailed forth that day in the name of God. They were well
onward on their way toward Gascoyne, but on the third day there rose a
contrary wind and drave them on the marches of Cornwall, and there
they lay at anchor six days. In that space the king had other counsel
by the means of sir Godfrey Harcourt: he counselled the king not to go
into Gascoyne, but rather to set aland in Normandy, and said to the
king: 'Sir, the country of Normandy is one of the plenteous countries
of the world: sir, on jeopardy of my head, if ye will land there,
there is none that shall resist you; the people of Normandy have not
been used to the war, and all the knights and squires of the country
are now at the siege before Aiguillon with the duke. And, sir, there
ye shall find great towns that be not walled, whereby your men shall
have such winning, that they shall be the better thereby twenty year
after; and, sir, ye may follow with your army till ye come to Caen in
Normandy: sir, I require you to believe me in this voyage,'
The king, who was as then but in the flower of his youth, desiring
nothing so much as to have deeds of arms, inclined greatly to the
saying of the lord Harcourt, whom he called cousin. Then he commanded
the mariners to set their course to Normandy, and he took into his
ship the token of the admiral the earl of Warwick, and said now he
would be admiral for that viage, and so sailed on before as governour
of that navy, and they had wind at will. Then the king arrived in the
isle of Cotentin, at a port called Hogue Saint-Vaast.[4]
[4] Saint-Vaast-de la Hogue.
Tidings anon spread abroad how the Englishmen were aland: the towns of
Cotentin sent word thereof to Paris to king Philip. He had well heard
before how the king of England was on the sea with a great army, but
he wist not what way he would draw, other into Normandy, Bretayne or
Gascoyne. As soon as he knew that the king of England was aland in
Normandy, he sent his constable the earl of Guines, and the earl of
Tancarville, who were but newly come to him from his son from the
siege at Alguillon, to the town of Caen, commanding them to keep that
town against the Englishmen. They said they would do their best: they
departed from Paris with a good number of men of war, and daily there
came more to them by the way, and so came to the town of Caen, where
they were received with great joy of men of the town and of the
country thereabout, that were drawn thither for surety. These lords
took heed for the provision of the town, the which as then was not
walled. The king thus was arrived at the port Hogue Saint-Vaast near
to Saint-Saviour the Viscount[5] the right heritage to the lord
Godfrey of Harcourt, who as then was there with the king of England.
[5] Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte.
HOW THE KING OF ENGLAND RODE IN THREE BATTLES THROUGH NORMANDY
When the king of England arrived in the Hogue Saint-Vaast, the king
issued out of his ship, and the first foot that he set on the ground,
he fell so rudely, that the blood brast out of his nose. The knights
that were about him took him up and said: 'Sir, for God's sake enter
again into your ship, and come not aland this day, for this is but an
evil sign for us.' Then the king answered quickly and said:
'Wherefore? This is a good token for me, for the land desireth to have
me.' Of the which answer all his men were right joyful. So that day
and night the king lodged on the sands, and in the meantime discharged
the ships of their horses and other baggages: there the king made two
marshals of his host, the one the lord Godfrey of Harcourt and the
other the earl of Warwick, and the earl of Arundel constable. And he
ordained that the earl of Huntingdon should keep the fleet of ships
with a hundred men of arms and four hundred archers: and also he
ordained three battles, one to go on his right hand, closing to the
sea-side, and the other on his left hand, and the king himself in the
midst, and every night to lodge all in one field.
Thus they set forth as they were ordained, and they that went by the
sea took all the ships that they found in their ways: and so long they
went forth, what by sea and what by land, that they came to a good
port and to a good town called Barfleur, the which incontinent was
won, for they within gave up for fear of death. Howbeit, for all that,
the town was robbed, and much gold and silver there found, and rich
jewels: there was found so much riches, that the boys and villains of
the host set nothing by good furred gowns: they made all the men of
the town to issue out and to go into the ships, because they would not
suffer them to be behind them for fear of rebelling again. After the
town of Barfleur was thus taken and robbed without brenning, then they
spread abroad in the country and did what they list, for there was not
to resist them. At last they came to a great and a rich town called
Cherbourg: the town they won and robbed it, and brent part thereof,
but into the castle they could not come, it was so strong and well
furnished with men of war. Then they passed forth and came to
Montebourg, and took it and robbed and brent it clean. In this manner
they brent many other towns in that country and won so much riches,
that it was marvel to reckon it. Then they came to a great town well
closed called Carentan, where there was also a strong castle and many
soldiers within to keep it. Then the lords came out of their ships and
fiercely made assault: the burgesses of the town were in great fear of
their lives, wives and children: they suffered the Englishmen to enter
into the town against the will of all the soldiers that were there;
they put all their goods to the Englishmen's pleasures, they thought
that most advantage. When the soldiers within saw that, they went into
the castle: the Englishmen went into the town, and two days together
they made sore assaults, so that when they within saw no succour, they
yielded up, their lives and goods saved, and so departed. The
Englishmen had their pleasure of that good town and castle, and when
they saw they might not maintain to keep it, they set fire therein and
brent it, and made the burgesses of the town to enter into their
ships, as they had done with them of Barfleur, Cherbourg and
Montebourg, and of other towns that they had won on the sea-side. All
this was done by the battle that went by the sea-side, and by them on
the sea together.[1]
[1] Froissart is mistaken in supposing that a division of the
land army went to these towns. Barfleur and Cherbourg were
visited only by the fleet. According to Michael of Northburgh,
who accompanied the expedition, Edward disembarked 12th July
and remained at Saint Vaast till the 18th, and meanwhile the
fleet went to Barfleur and Cherbourg. The army arrived at Caen
on the 26th.
Now let us speak of the king's battle. When he had sent his first
battle along by the sea-side, as ye have heard, whereof one of his
marshals, the earl of Warwick, was captain, and the lord Cobham with
him, then he made his other marshal to lead his host on his left hand,
for he knew the issues and entries of Normandy better than any other
did there. The lord Godfrey as marshal rode forth with five hundred
men of arms, and rode off from the king's battle as six or seven
leagues, in brenning and exiling the country, the which was plentiful
of everything--the granges full of corn, the houses full of all
riches, rich burgesses, carts and chariots, horse, swine, muttons and
other beasts: they took what them list and brought into the king's
host; but the soldiers made no count to the king nor to none of his
officers of the gold and silver that they did get; they kept that to
themselves. Thus sir Godfrey of Harcourt rode every day off from the
king's host, and for most part every night resorted to the king's
field. The king took his way to Saint-Lo in Cotentin, but or he came
there he lodged by a river, abiding for his men that rode along by the
sea-side; and when they were come, they set forth their carriage, and
the earl of Warwick, the earl of Suffolk, sir Thomas Holland and sir
Raynold Cobham, and their company rode out on the one side and wasted
and exiled the country, as the lord Harcourt had done; and the king
ever rode between these battles, and every night they lodged together.
OF THE GREAT ASSEMBLY THAT THE FRENCH KING MADE TO RESIST THE KING OF
ENGLAND
Thus by the Englishmen was brent, exiled, robbed, wasted and pilled
the good, plentiful country of Normandy. Then the French king sent for
the lord John of Hainault, who came to him with a great number: also
the king sent for other men of arms, dukes, earls, barons, knights and
squires, and assembled together the greatest number of people that had
been seen in France a hundred year before. He sent for men into so far
countries, that it was long or they came together, wherefore the king
of England did what him list in the mean season. The French king heard
well what he did, and sware and said how they should never return
again unfought withal, and that such hurts and damages as they had
done should be dearly revenged; wherefore he had sent letters to his
friends in the Empire, to such as were farthest off, and also to the
gentle king of Bohemia and to the lord Charles his son, who from
thenceforth was called king of Almaine; he was made king by the aid of
his father and the French king, and had taken on him the arms of the
Empire: the French king desired them to come to him with all their
powers, to the intent to fight with the king o£ England, who brent and
wasted his country. These princes and lords made them ready with great
number of men o£ arms, of Almains, Bohemians and Luxemburgers, and so
came to the French king. Also king Philip sent to the duke of
Lorraine, who came to serve him with three hundred spears: also there
came the earl (of) Salm in Saumois, the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl
of Flanders, the earl William of Namur, every man with a fair company.
Ye have heard herebefore of the order of the Englishmen, how they went
in three battles, the marshals on the right hand and on the left, the
king and the prince of Wales his son in the midst They rode but small
journeys and every day took their lodgings between noon and three of
the clock, and found the country so fruitful, that they needed not to
make no provision for their host, but all only for wine; and yet they
found reasonably sufficient thereof.[1] It was no marvel though they
of the country were afraid, for before that time they had never seen
men of war, nor they wist not what war or battle meant. They fled away
as far as they might hear speaking of the Englishmen,[2] and left
their houses well stuffed, and granges full of corn, they wist not how
to save and keep it. The king of England and the prince had in their
battle a three thousand men of arms and six thousand archers and a ten
thousand men afoot, beside them that rode with the marshals.
[1] Or rather, 'thus they found reasonably sufficient provisions.'
[2] That is, they fled as soon as they heard their coming spoken
of.
Thus as ye have heard, the king rode forth, wasting and brenning the
country without breaking of his order. He left the city of
Coutances[3] and went to a great town called Saint-Lo, a rich town of
drapery and many rich burgesses. In that town there were dwelling an
eight or nine score burgesses, crafty men. When the king came there,
he took his lodging without, for he would never lodge in the town for
fear of fire: but he sent his men before and anon the town was taken
and clean robbed. It was hard to think the great riches that there was
won, in clothes specially; cloth would there have been sold good
cheap, if there had been any buyers.
[3] That is, he did not turn aside to go to it. Froissart
says, 'He did not turn aside to the city of Coutances, but went
on toward the great town of Saint-Lo in Cotentin, which at that
time was very rich and of great merchandise and three times as
great as the city of Coutances.' Michael of Northburgh says that
Barfleur was about equal in importance to Sandwich and Carentan
to Leicester, Saint-Lo greater than Lincoln, and Caen greater
than any city in England except London.
Then the king went toward Caen, the which was a greater town and full
of drapery and other merchandise, and rich burgesses, noble ladies and
damosels, and fair churches, and specially two great and rich abbeys,
one of the Trinity, another of Saint Stephen; and on the one side of
the town one of the fairest castles of all Normandy, and captain
therein was Robert of Wargny, with three hundred Genoways, and in the
town was the earl of Eu and of Guines, constable of France, and the
earl of Tancarville, with a good number of men of war. The king of
England rode that day in good order and lodged all his battles
together that night, a two leagues from Caen, in a town with a little
haven called Austrehem, and thither came also all his navy of ships
with the earl of Huntingdon, who was governour of them.
The constable and other lords of France that night watched well the
town of Caen, and in the morning armed them with all them of the town:
then the constable ordained that none should issue out, but keep their
defences on the walls, gate, bridge and river, and left the suburbs
void, because they were not closed; for they thought they should have
enough to do to defend the town, because it was not closed but with
the river. They of the town said how they would issue out, for they
were strong enough to fight with the king of England. When the
constable saw their good wills, he said: 'In the name of God be it, ye
shall not fight without me,' Then they issued out in good order and
made good face to fight and to defend them and to put their lives in
adventure.
OF THE BATTLE OF CAEN, AND HOW THE ENGLISHMEN TOOK THE TOWN
The same day the Englishmen rose early and apparelled them ready to go
to Caen.[1] The king heard mass before the sun-rising and then took
his horse, and the prince his son, with sir Godfrey of Harcourt
marshal and leader of the host, whose counsel the king much followed.
Then they drew toward Caen with their battles in good array, and so
approached the good town of Caen. When they of the town, who were
ready in the field, saw these three battles coming in good order, with
their banners and standards waving in the wind, and the archers, the
which they had not been accustomed to see, they were sore afraid and
fled away toward the town without any order or good array, for all
that the constable could do: then the Englishmen pursued them eagerly.
When the constable and the earl Tancarville saw that, they took a gate
at the entry and saved themselves[2] and certain with them, for the
Englishmen were entered into the town. Some of the knights and squires
of France, such as knew the way to the castle, went thither, and the
captain there received them all, for the castle was large. The
Englishmen in the chase slew many, for they took none to mercy.
[1] This was 26th July. Edward arrived at Poissy on 12th August.
Philip of Valois left Paris on the 14th, the English crossed the
Seine at Poissy on the 16th, and the Somme at Blanche-taque on
the 24th.
[2] 'Set themselves for safety in a gate at the entry of the
bridge.'
Then the constable and the earl of Tancarville, being in the little
tower at the bridge foot, looked along the street and saw their men
slain without mercy: they doubted to fall in their hands. At last they
saw an English knight with one eye called sir Thomas Holland, and a
five or six other knights with him: they knew them, for they had seen
them before in Pruce, in Granade, and in other viages. Then they
called to sir Thomas and said how they would yield themselves
prisoners. Then sir Thomas came thither with his company and mounted
up into the gate, and there found the said lords with twenty-five
knights with them, who yielded them to sir Thomas, and he took them
for his prisoners and left company to keep them, and then mounted
again on his horse and rode into the streets, and saved many lives of
ladies, damosels, and cloisterers from defoiling, for the soldiers
were without mercy. It fell so well the same season for the
Englishmen, that the river, which was able to bear ships, at that time
was so low, that men went in and out beside the bridge. They of the
town were entered into their houses, and cast down into the street
stones, timber and iron, and slew and hurt more than five hundred
Englishmen, wherewith the king was sore displeased. At night when he
heard thereof, he commanded that the next day all should be put to the
sword and the town brent; but then sir Godfrey of Harcourt said: 'Dear
sir, for God's sake assuage somewhat your courage, and let it suffice
you that ye have done. Ye have yet a great voyage to do or ye come
before Calais, whither ye purpose to go; and, sir, in this town there
is much people who will defend their houses, and it will cost many of
your men their lives, or ye have all at your will; whereby
peradventure ye shall not keep your purpose to Calais, the which
should redound to your rack. Sir, save your people, for ye shall have
need of them or this month pass; for I think verily your adversary
king Philip will meet with you to fight, and ye shall find many
straight passages and rencounters; wherefore your men, an ye had more,
shall stand you in good stead: and, sir, without any further slaying
ye shall be lord of this town; men and women will put all that they
have to your pleasure.' Then the king said: 'Sir Godfrey, you are our
marshal, ordain everything as ye will.' Then sir Godfrey with his
banner rode from street to street, and commanded in the king's name
none to be so hardy to put fire in any house, to slay any person, nor
to violate any woman. When they of the town heard that cry, they
received the Englishmen into their houses and made them good cheer,
and some opened their coffers and bade them take what them list, so
they might be assured of their lives; howbeit there were done in the
town many evil deeds, murders and robberies. Thus the Englishmen were
lords of the town three days and won great riches, the which they sent
by barks and barges to Saint-Saviour by the river of Austrehem,[3] a
two leagues thence, whereas all their navy lay. Then the king sent the
earl of Huntingdon with two hundred men of arms and four hundred
archers, with his navy and prisoners and riches that they had got,
back again into England. And the king bought of sir Thomas Holland the
constable of France and the earl of Tancarville, and paid for them
twenty thousand nobles.
[3] Froissart says that they sent their booty in barges and
boats 'on the river as far as Austrehem, a two leagues from
thence, where their great navy lay.' He makes no mention of
Saint-Sauveur here. The river in question is the Orne, at the
mouth of which Austrehem is situated.
HOW SIR GODFREY OF HARCOURT FOUGHT WITH THEM OF AMIENS BEFORE PARIS
Thus the king of England ordered his business, being in the town of
Caen, and sent into England his navy of ships charged with clothes,
jewels, vessels of gold and silver, and of other riches, and of
prisoners more than sixty knights and three hundred burgesses. Then he
departed from the town of Caen and rode in the same order as he did
before, brenning and exiling the country, and took the way to Evreux
and so passed by it; and from thence they rode to a great town called
Louviers: it was the chief town of all Normandy of drapery, riches,
and full of merchandise. The Englishmen soon entered therein, for as
then it was not closed; it was overrun, spoiled and robbed without
mercy: there was won great riches. Then they entered into the country
of Evreux and brent and pilled all the country except the good towns
closed and castles, to the which the king made none assault, because
of the sparing of his people and his artillery.
On the river of Seine near to Rouen there was the earl of Harcourt,
brother to sir Godfrey of Harcourt, but he was on the French party,
and the earl of Dreux with him, with a good number of men of war: but
the Englishmen left Rouen and went to Gisors, where was a strong
castle: they brent the town and then they brent Vernon and all the
country about Rouen and Pont-de-l'Arche and came to Mantes and to
Meulan, and wasted all the country about, and passed by the strong
castle of Rolleboise; and in every place along the river of Seine they
found the bridges broken. At last they came to Poissy, and found the
bridge broken, but the arches and joists lay in the river: the king
lay there a five days: in the mean season the bridge was made, to pass
the host without peril. The English marshals ran abroad just to Paris,
and brent Saint-Germain in Laye and Montjoie, and Saint-Cloud, and
petty Boulogne by Paris, and the Queen's Bourg:[1] they of Paris were
not well assured of themselves, for it was not as then closed.
[1] Bourg-la-Reine.
Then king Philip removed to Saint-Denis, and or he went caused all the
pentices in Paris to be pulled down; and at Saint-Denis were ready
come the king of Bohemia, the lord John of Hainault, the duke of
Lorraine, the earl of Flanders, the earl of Blois, and many other
great lords and knights, ready to serve the French king. When the
people of Paris saw their king depart, they came to him and kneeled
down and said: 'Ah, sir and noble king, what will ye do? leave thus
this noble city of Paris?' The king said: 'My good people, doubt ye
not: the Englishmen will approach you no nearer than they be.' 'Why
so, sir?' quoth they; 'they be within these two leagues, and as soon
as they know of your departing, they will come and assail us; and we
not able to defend them: sir, tarry here still and help to defend your
good city of Paris.' 'Speak no more,' quoth the king, 'for I will go
to Saint-Denis to my men of war: for I will encounter the Englishmen
and fight against them, whatsoever fall thereof.'
The king of England was at Poissy, and lay in the nunnery there, and
kept there the feast of our Lady in August and sat in his robes of
scarlet furred with ermines; and after that feast he went forth in
order as they were before. The lord Godfrey of Harcourt rode out on
the one side with five hundred men of arms and thirteen[2] hundred
archers; and by adventure he encountered a great number of burgesses
of Amiens a-horseback, who were riding by the king's commandment to
Paris. They were quickly assailed and they defended themselves
valiantly, for they were a great number and well armed: there were
four knights of Amiens their captains. This skirmish dured long: at
the first meeting many were overthrown on both parts; but finally the
burgesses were taken and nigh all slain, and the Englishmen took all
their carriages and harness. They were well stuffed, for they were
going to the French king well appointed, because they had not seen him
a great season before. There were slain in the field a twelve hundred.
[2] A better reading is 'twelve.'
Then the king of England entered into the country of Beauvoisis,
brenning and exiling the plain country, and lodged at a fair abbey and
a rich called Saint-Messien[3] near to Beauvais: there the king
tarried a night and in the morning departed. And when he was on his
way he looked behind him and saw the abbey a-fire: he caused
incontinent twenty of them to be hanged that set the fire there, for
he had commanded before on pain of death none to violate any church
nor to bren any abbey. Then the king passed by the city of Beauvais
without any assault giving, for because he would not trouble his
people nor waste his artillery. And so that day he took his lodging
betime in a little town called Milly. The two marshals came so near to
Beauvais, that they made assault and skirmish at the barriers in three
places, the which assault endured a long space; but the town within
was so well defended by the means of the bishop, who was there within,
that finally the Englishmen departed, and brent clean hard to the
gates all the suburbs, and then at night they came into the king's
field.
[3] Commonly called Saint-Lucien, but Saint Maximianus (Messien)
is also associated with the place.
The next day the king departed, brenning and wasting all before him,
and at night lodged in a good village called Grandvilliers. The next
day the king passed by Dargies: there was none to defend the castle,
wherefore it was soon taken and brent. Then they went forth destroying
the country all about, and so came to the castle of Poix, where there
was a good town and two castles. There was nobody in them but two fair
damosels, daughters to the lord of Poix; they were soon taken, and had
been violated, an two English knights had not been, sir John Chandos
and sir Basset; they defended them and brought them to the king, who
for his honour made them good cheer and demanded of them whither they
would fainest go. They said, 'To Corbie,' and the king caused them to
be brought thither without peril. That night the king lodged in the
town of Poix. They of the town and of the castles spake that night
with the marshals of the host, to save them and their town from
brenning, and they to pay a certain sum of florins the next day as
soon as the host was departed. This was granted them, and in the
morning the king departed with all his host except a certain that were
left there to receive the money that they of the town had promised to
pay. When they of the town saw the host depart and but a few left
behind, then they said they would pay never a penny, and so ran out
and set on the Englishmen, who defended themselves as well as they
might and sent after the host for succour. When sir Raynold Cobham and
sir Thomas Holland, who had the rule of the rearguard, heard thereof,
they returned and cried, 'Treason, treason!' and so came again to
Poix-ward and found their companions still fighting with them of the
town. Then anon they of the town were nigh all slain, and the town
brent, and the two castles beaten down. Then they returned to the
king's host, who was as then at Airaines and there lodged, and had
commanded all manner of men on pain of death to do no hurt to no town
of Arsyn,[4] for there the king was minded to lie a day or two to take
advice how he might pass the river of Somme; for it was necessary for
him to pass the river, as ye shall hear after.
[4] A mistranslation. The original is '(Il avoit) deffendu sus
le hart que nuls ne fourfesist rien à le ville d'arsin ne d'autre
cose,' 'he had commanded all on pain of hanging to do no hurt to
the town by burning or otherwise.' The translator has taken
'arsin' for a proper name.
HOW THE FRENCH KING FOLLOWED THE KING OF ENGLAND IN BEAUVOISINOIS
Now let us speak of King Philip, who was at Sant-Denis and his people
about him, and daily increased. Then on a day he departed and rode so
long that he came to Coppegueule, a three leagues from Amiens, and
there he tarried. The king of England being at Airaines wist not where
for to pass the river of Somme, the which was large and deep, and all
bridges were broken and the passages well kept. Then at the king's
commandment his two marshals with a thousand men of arms and two
thousand archers went along the river to find some passage, and passed
by Longpré, and came to the bridge of Remy,[1] the which was well kept
with a great number of knights and squires and men of the country. The
Englishmen alighted afoot and assailed the Frenchmen from the morning
till it was noon; but the bridge was so well fortified and defended,
that the Englishmen departed without winning of anything. Then they
went to a great town called Fountains on the river of Somme, the which
was clean robbed and brent, for it was not closed. Then they went to
another town called Long-en-Ponthieu; they could not win the bridge,
it was so well kept and defended. Then they departed and went to
Picquigny, and found the town, the bridge, and the castle so well
fortified, that it was not likely to pass there: the French king had
so well defended the passages, to the intent that the king of England
should not pass the river of Somme, to fight with him at his advantage
or else to famish him there.
[1] Pont-à-Remy, corrupted here into 'bridge of Athyne.'
When these two marshals had assayed in all places to find passage and
could find none, they returned again to the king, and shewed how they
could find no passage in no place. The same night the French king came
to Amiens with more than a hundred thousand men. The king of England
was right pensive, and the next morning heard mass before the
sun-rising and then dislodged; and every man followed the marshals'
banners and so rode in the country of Vimeu approaching to the good
town of Abbeville, and found a town thereby, whereunto was come much
people of the country in trust of a little defence that was there; but
the Englishmen anon won it; and all they that were within slain, and
many taken of the town and of the country. The king took his lodging
in a great hospital[2] that was there. The same day the French king
departed from Amiens and came to Airaines about noon; and the
Englishmen were departed thence in the morning. The Frenchmen found
there great provision that the Englishmen had left behind them,
because they departed in haste. There they found flesh ready on the
broaches, bread and pasties in the ovens, wine in tuns and barrels,
and the tables ready laid. There the French king lodged and tarried
for his lords.
[2] That is, a house of the knights of Saint John.
That night the king of England was lodged at Olsemont. At night when
the two marshals were returned, who had that day overrun the country
to the gates of Abbeville and to Saint-Valery and made a great
skirmish there, then the king assembled together his council and made
to be brought before him certain prisoners of the country of Ponthieu
and of Vimeu. The king right courteously demanded of them, if there
were any among them that knew any passage beneath Abbeville, that he
and his host might pass over the river of Somme: if he would shew him
thereof, he should be quit of his ransom, and twenty of his company
for his love. There was a varlet called Gobin Agace who stepped forth
and said to the king: 'Sir, I promise you on the jeopardy of my head I
shall bring you to such a place, whereas ye and all your host shall
pass the river of Somme without peril. There be certain places in the
passage that ye shall pass twelve men afront two times between day and
night: ye shall not go in the water to the knees. But when the flood
cometh, the river then waxeth so great, that no man can pass; but when
the flood is gone, the which is two times between day and night, then
the river is so low, that it may be passed without danger both
a-horseback and afoot. The passage is hard in the bottom with white
stones, so that all your carriage may go surely; therefore the passage
is called Blanche-taque. An ye make ready to depart betimes, ye may be
there by the sun-rising.' The king said: 'If this be true that ye say,
I quit thee thy ransom and all thy company, and moreover shall give
thee a hundred nobles.' Then the king commanded every man to be ready
at the sound of the trumpet to depart.
OF THE BATTLE OF BLANCHE-TAQUE BETWEEN THE KING OF ENGLAND AND SIR
GODEMAR DU FAY
The king of England slept not much that night, for at midnight he
arose and sowned his trumpet: then incontinent they made ready
carriages and all things, and at the breaking of the day they departed
from the town of Oisemont and rode after the guiding of Gobin Agace,
so that they came by the sun-rising to Blanche-taque; but as then the
flood was up, so that they might not pass: so the king tarried there
till it was prime; then the ebb came.
The French king had his currours in the country, who brought him word
of the demeanour of the Englishmen. Then he thought to close the king
of England between Abbeville and the river of Somme, and so to fight
with him at his pleasure. And when he was at Amiens he had ordained a
great baron of Normandy, called sir Godemar du Fay, to go and keep the
passage of Blanche-taque, where the Englishmen must pass or else in
none other place. He had with him a thousand men of arms and six
thousand afoot, with the Genoways: so they went by Saint-Riquier in
Ponthieu and from thence to Crotoy, whereas the passage lay; and also
he had with him a great number of men of the country, and also a great
number of them of Montreuil, so that they were a twelve thousand men
one and other.
When the English host was come thither, sir Godemar du Fay arranged
all his company to defend the passage. The king of England let not for
all that; but when the flood was gone, he commanded his marshals to
enter into the water in the name of God and Saint George. Then they
that were hardy and courageous entered on both parties, and many a man
reversed. There were some of the Frenchmen of Artois and Picardy that
were as glad to joust in the water as on the dry land.
The Frenchmen defended so well the passage at the issuing out of the
water, that they had much to do. The Genoways did them great trouble
with their cross-bows: on the other side the archers of England shot
so wholly together, that the Frenchmen were fain to give place to the
Englishmen. There was a sore battle, and many a noble feat of arms
done on both sides. Finally the Englishmen passed over and assembled
together in the field. The king and the prince passed, and all the
lords; then the Frenchmen kept none array, but departed, he that might
best. When sir Godemar saw that discomfiture, he fled and saved
himself: some fled to Abbeville and some to Saint-Riquiers. They that
were there afoot could not flee, so that there were slain a great
number of them of Abbeville, Montreuil, Rue and of Saint-Riquiers: the
chase endured more than a great league. And as yet all the Englishmen
were not passed the river, and certain currours of the king of Bohemia
and of sir John of Hainault came on them that were behind and took
certain horses and carriages and slew divers, or they could take the
passage.
The French king the same morning was departed from Airaines, trusting
to have found the Englishmen between him and the river of Somme: but
when he heard how that sir Godemar du Fay and his company were
discomfited, he tarried in the field and demanded of his marshals what
was best to do. They said, 'Sir, ye cannot pass the river but at the
bridge of Abbeville, for the flood is come in at Blanche-taque': then
he returned and lodged at Abbeville.
The king of England when he was past the river, he thanked God and so
rode forth in like manner as he did before. Then he called Gobin Agace
and did quit him his ransom and all his company, and gave him a
hundred nobles and a good horse. And so the king rode forth fair and
easily, and thought to have lodged in a great town called Noyelles;
but when he knew that the town pertained to the countess d'Aumale,
sister to the lord Robert of Artois,[1] the king assured the town and
country as much as pertained to her, and so went forth; and his
marshals rode to Crotoy on the sea-side and brent the town, and found
in the haven many ships and barks charged with wines of Poitou,
pertaining to the merchants of Saintonge and of Rochelle: they brought
the best thereof to the king's host. Then one of the marshals rode to
the gates of Abbeville and from thence to Saint-Riquiers, and after to
the town of Rue-Saint-Esprit. This was on a Friday, and both battles
of the marshals returned to the king's host about noon and so lodged
all together near to Cressy in Ponthieu.
[1] She was in fact his daughter.
The king of England was well informed how the French king followed
after him to fight. Then he said to his company: 'Let us take here
some plot of ground, for we will go no farther till we have seen our
enemies. I have good cause here to abide them, for I am on the right
heritage of the queen my mother, the which land was given at her
marriage: I will challenge it of mine adversary Philip of Valois.' And
because that he had not the eighth part in number of men as the French
king had, therefore he commanded his marshals to chose a plot of
ground somewhat for his advantage: and so they did, and thither the
king and his host went. Then he sent his currours to Abbeville, to see
if the French king drew that day into the field or not. They went
forth and returned again, and said how they could see none appearance
of his coming: then every man took their lodging for that day, and to
be ready in the morning at the sound of the trumpet in the same place.
This Friday the French king tarried still in Abbeville abiding for his
company, and sent his two marshals to ride out to see the dealing of
the Englishmen, and at night they returned, and said how the
Englishmen were lodged in the fields. That night the French king made
a supper to all the chief lords that were there with him, and after
supper the king desired them to be friends each to other. The king
looked for the earl of Savoy, who should come to him with a thousand
spears, for he had received wages for a three months of them at Troyes
in Champagne.
OF THE ORDER OF THE ENGLISHMEN AT CRESSY, HOW THEY MADE THREE BATTLES
AFOOT
On the Friday, as I said before, the king of England lay in the
fields, for the country was plentiful of wines and other victual, and
if need had been, they had provision following in carts and other
carriages. That night the king made a supper to all his chief lords of
his host and made them good cheer; and when they were all departed to
take their rest, then the king entered into his oratory and kneeled
down before the altar, praying God devoutly, that if he fought the
next day, that he might achieve the journey to his honour: then about
midnight he laid him down to rest, and in the morning he rose betimes
and heard mass, and the prince his son with him, and the most part of
his company were confessed and houselled; and after the mass said, he
commanded every man to be armed and to draw to the field to the same
place before appointed. Then the king caused a park to be made by the
wood side behind his host, and there was set all carts and carriages,
and within the park were all their horses, for every man was afoot;
and into this park there was but one entry. Then he ordained three
battles: in the first was the young prince of Wales, with him the earl
of Warwick and Oxford, the lord Godfrey of Harcourt, sir Raynold
Cobham, sir Thomas Holland, the lord Stafford, the lord of Mohun, the
lord Delaware, sir John Chandos, sir Bartholomew de Burghersh, sir
Robert Nevill, the lord Thomas Clifford, the lord Bourchier, the lord
de Latimer, and divers other knights and squires that I cannot name:
they were an eight hundred men of arms and two thousand archers, and a
thousand of other with the Welshmen: every lord drew to the field
appointed under his own banner and pennon. In the second battle was
the earl of Northampton, the earl of Arundel, the lord Ros, the lord
Lucy, the lord Willoughby, the lord Basset, the lord of Saint-Aubin,
sir Louis Tufton, the lord of Multon, the lord Lascelles and divers
other, about an eight hundred men of arms and twelve hundred archers.
The third battle had the king: he had seven hundred men of arms and
two thousand archers. Then the king leapt on a hobby,[1] with a white
rod in his hand, one of his marshals on the one hand and the other on
the other hand: he rode from rank to rank desiring every man to take
heed that day to his right and honour. He spake it so sweetly and with
so good countenance and merry cheer, that all such as were discomfited
took courage in the seeing and hearing of him. And when he had thus
visited all his battles, it was then nine of the day: then he caused
every man to eat and drink a little, and so they did at their leisure.
And afterward they ordered again their battles: then every man lay
down on the earth and by him his salet and bow, to be the more fresher
when their enemies should come.
[1] 'Un petit palefroi.'
THE ORDER OF THE FRENCHMEN AT CRESSY, AND HOW THEY BEHELD THE
DEMEANOUR OF THE ENGLISHMEN
This Saturday the French king rose betimes and heard mass in Abbeville
in his lodging in the abbey of Saint Peter, and he departed after the
sun-rising. When he was out of the town two leagues, approaching
toward his enemies, some of his lords said to him: 'Sir, it were good
that ye ordered your battles, and let all your footmen pass somewhat
on before, that they be not troubled with the horsemen.' Then the king
sent four knights, the Moine (of) Bazeilles, the lord of Noyers, the
lord of Beaujeu and the lord d'Aubigny to ride to aview the English
host; and so they rode so near that they might well see part of their
dealing. The Englishmen saw them well and knew well how they were come
thither to aview them: they let them alone and made no countenance
toward them, and let them return as they came. And when the French
king saw these four knights return again, he tarried till they came to
him and said: 'Sirs, what tidings?' These four knights each of them
looked on other, for there was none would speak before his companion;
finally the king said to (the) Moine, who pertained to the king of
Bohemia and had done in his days so much, that he was reputed for one
of the valiantest knights of the world: 'Sir, speak you,' Then he
said: 'Sir, I shall speak, sith it pleaseth you, under the correction
of my fellows. Sir, we have ridden and seen the behaving of your
enemies: know ye for truth they are rested in three battles abiding
for you. Sir, I will counsel you as for my part, saving your
displeasure, that you and all your company rest here and lodge for
this night: for or they that be behind of your company be come hither,
and or your battles be set in good order, it will be very late, and
your people be weary and out of array, and ye shall find your enemies
fresh and ready to receive you. Early in the morning ye may order your
battles at more leisure and advise your enemies at more deliberation,
and to regard well what way ye will assail them; for, sir, surely they
will abide you.'
Then the king commanded that it should be so done. Then his two
marshals one rode before, another behind, saying to every banner:
'Tarry and abide here in the name of God and Saint Denis.' They that
were foremost tarried, but they that were behind would not tarry, but
rode forth, and said how they would in no wise abide till they were as
far forward as the foremost: and when they before saw them come on
behind, then they rode forward again, so that the king nor his
marshals could not rule them. So they rode without order or good
array, till they came in sight of their enemies: and as soon as the
foremost saw them, they reculed then aback without good array, whereof
they behind had marvel and were abashed, and thought that the foremost
company had been fighting. Then they might have had leisure and room
to have gone forward, if they had list: some went forth and some abode
still. The commons, of whom all the ways between Abbeville and Cressy
were full, when they saw that they were near to their enemies, they
took their swords and cried: 'Down with them! let us slay them all.'
There is no man, though he were present at the journey, that could
imagine or shew the truth of the evil order that was among the French
party, and yet they were a marvellous great number. That I write in
this book I learned it specially of the Englishmen, who well beheld
their dealing; and also certain knights of sir John of Hainault's, who
was always about king Philip, shewed me as they knew.
OF THE BATTLE OF CRESSY BETWEEN THE KING OF ENGLAND AND THE FRENCH
KING
The Englishmen, who were in three battles lying on the ground to rest
them, as soon as they saw the Frenchmen approach, they rose upon their
feet fair and easily without any haste and arranged their battles. The
first, which was the prince's battle, the archers there stood in
manner of a herse and the men of arms in the bottom of the battle. The
earl of Northampton and the earl of Arundel with the second battle
were on a wing in good order, ready to comfort the prince's battle, if
need were.
The lords and knights of France came not to the assembly together in
good order, for some came before and some came after in such haste and
evil order, that one of them did trouble another. When the French king
saw the Englishmen, his blood changed, and said to his marshals: 'Make
the Genoways go on before and begin the battle in the name of God and
Saint Denis.' There were of the Genoways cross-bows about a fifteen
thousand,[1] but they were so weary of going afoot that day a six
leagues armed with their cross-bows, that they said to their
constables: 'We be not well ordered to fight this day, for we be not
in the case to do any great deed of arms: we have more need of rest.'
These words came to the earl of Alengon, who said: 'A man is well at
ease to be charged with such a sort of rascals, to be faint and fail
now at most need.' Also the same season there fell a great rain and a
clipse[2] with a terrible thunder, and before the rain there came
flying over both battles a great number of crows for fear of the
tempest coming. Then anon the air began to wax clear, and the sun to
shine fair and bright, the which was right in the Frenchmen's eyen and
on the Englishmen's backs. When the Genoways were assembled together
and began to approach, they made a great leap[3] and cry to abash the
Englishmen, but they stood still and stirred not for all that: then
the Genoways again the second time made another leap and a fell cry,
and stept forward a little, and the Englishmen removed not one foot:
thirdly, again they leapt and cried, and went forth till they came
within shot; then they shot fiercely with their cross-bows. Then the
English archers stept forth one pace and let fly their arrows so
wholly (together) and so thick, that it seemed snow. When the Genoways
felt the arrows piercing through heads, arms and breasts, many of them
cast down their cross-bows and did cut their strings and returned
discomfited. When the French king saw them fly away, he said: 'Slay
these rascals, for they shall let and trouble us without reason.' Then
ye should have seen the men of arms dash in among them and killed a
great number of them: and ever still the Englishmen shot whereas they
saw thickest press; the sharp arrows ran into the men of arms and into
their horses, and many fell, horse and men, among the Genoways, and
when they were down, they could not relieve[4] again, the press was so
thick that one overthrew another. And also among the Englishmen there
were certain rascals that went afoot with great knives, and they went
in among the men of arms, and slew and murdered many as they lay on
the ground, both earls, barons, knights and squires, whereof the king
of England was after displeased, for he had rather they had been taken
prisoners.
[1] Villani, a very good authority on the subject, says 6000,
brought from the ships at Harfleur.
[2] A mistranslation of 'une esclistre,' 'a flash of lightning.'
[3] These 'leaps' of the Genoese are invented by the translator,
and have passed from him into several respectable English
text-books, sometimes in company with the eclipse above
mentioned. Froissart says 'Il commencièrent à juper moult
epouvantablement'; that is, 'to utter cries.' Another text makes
mention of the English cannons at this point: 'The English
remained still and let off some cannons that they had, to
frighten the Genoese.'
[4] The translator's word 'relieve' (relyuue) represents
'relever,' for 'se relever.'
The valiant king of Bohemia called Charles of Luxembourg, son to the
noble emperor Henry of Luxembourg, for all that he was nigh blind,
when he understood the order of the battle, he said to them about him:
'Where is the lord Charles my son?' His men said: 'Sir, we cannot
tell; we think he be fighting.' Then he said: 'Sirs, ye are my men, my
companions and friends in this journey: I require you bring me so far
forward, that I may strike one stroke with my sword.' They said they
would do his commandment, and to the intent that they should not lose
him in the press, they tied all their reins of their bridles each to
other and set the king before to accomplish his desire, and so they
went on their enemies. The lord Charles of Bohemia his son, who wrote
himself king of Almaine and bare the arms, he came in good order to
the battle; but when he saw that the matter went awry on their party,
he departed, I cannot tell you which way. The king his father was so
far forward that he strake a stroke with his sword, yea and more than
four, and fought valiantly and so did his company; and they adventured
themselves so forward, that they were there all slain, and the next
day they were found in the place about the king, and all their horses
tied each to other.
The earl of Alençon came to the battle right ordinately and fought
with the Englishmen, and the earl of Flanders also on his part. These
two lords with their companies coasted the English archers and came to
the prince's battle, and there fought valiantly long. The French king
would fain have come thither, when he saw their banners, but there was
a great hedge of archers before him. The same day the French king had
given a great black courser to sir John of Hainault, and he made the
lord Tierry of Senzeille to ride on him and to bear his banner. The
same horse took the bridle in the teeth and brought him through all
the currours of the Englishmen, and as he would have returned again,
he fell in a great dike and was sore hurt, and had been there dead, an
his page had not been, who followed him through all the battles and
saw where his master lay in the dike, and had none other let but for
his horse, for the Englishmen would not issue out of their battle for
taking of any prisoner. Then the page alighted and relieved his
master: then he went not back again the same way that they came, there
was too many in his way.
This battle between Broye and Cressy this Saturday was right cruel and
fell, and many a feat of arms done that came not to my knowledge. In
the night[5] divers knights and squires lost their masters, and
sometime came on the Englishmen, who received them in such wise that
they were ever nigh slain; for there was none taken to mercy nor to
ransom, for so the Englishmen were determined.
[5] 'Sus le nuit,' 'towards nightfall.'
In the morning[6] the day of the battle certain Frenchmen and Almains
perforce opened the archers of the prince's battle and came and fought
with the men of arms hand to hand. Then the second battle of the
Englishmen came to succour the prince's battle, the which was time,
for they had as then much ado; and they with the prince sent a
messenger to the king, who was on a little windmill hill. Then the
knight said to the king: 'Sir, the earl of Warwick and the earl of
Oxford, sir Raynold Cobham and other, such as be about the prince your
son, are fiercely fought withal and are sore handled; wherefore they
desire you that you and your battle will come and aid them; for if the
Frenchmen increase, as they doubt they will, your son and they shall
have much ado.' Then the king said: 'Is my son dead or hurt or on the
earth felled?' 'No, sir,' quoth the knight, 'but he is hardly matched;
wherefore he hath need of your aid.' 'Well,' said the king, 'return to
him and to them that sent you hither, and say to them that they send
no more to me for any adventure that falleth, as long as my son is
alive: and also say to them that they suffer him this day to win his
spurs;[7] for if God be pleased, I will this journey be his and the
honour thereof, and to them that be about him.' Then the knight
returned again to them and shewed the king's words, the which greatly
encouraged them, and repoined[8] in that they had sent to the king as
they did.
[6] The text has suffered by omissions. What Froissart says is
that if the battle had begun in the morning, it might have gone
better for the French, and then he instances the exploits of
those who broke through the archers. The battle did not begin
till four o'clock in the afternoon.
[7] 'Que il laissent à l'enfant gaegnier ses esperons.'
[8] i.e. 'they repoined': Fr. 'se reprisent.'
Sir Godfrey of Harcourt would gladly that the earl of Harcourt his
brother might have been saved; for he heard say by them that saw his
banner how that he was there in the field on the French party: but sir
Godfrey could not come to him betimes, for he was slain or he could
come at him, and so was also the earl of Aumale his nephew. In another
place the earl of Alençon and the earl of Flanders fought valiantly,
every lord under his own banner; but finally they could not resist
against the puissance of the Englishmen, and so there they were also
slain, and divers other knights and squires. Also the earl Louis of
Blois, nephew to the French king, and the duke of Lorraine fought
under their banners, but at last they were closed in among a company
of Englishmen and Welshmen, and there were slain for all their
prowess. Also there was slain the earl of Auxerre, the earl of
Saint-Pol and many other.
In the evening the French king, who had left about him no more than a
three-score persons, one and other, whereof sir John of Hainault was
one, who had remounted once the king, for his horse was slain with an
arrow, then he said to the king: 'Sir, depart hence, for it is time;
lose not yourself wilfully: if ye have loss at this time, ye shall
recover it again another season.' And so he took the king's horse by
the bridle and led him away in a manner perforce. Then the king rode
till he came to the castle of Broye. The gate was closed, because it
was by that time dark: then the king called the captain, who came to
the walls and said: 'Who is that calleth there this time of night?'
Then the king said: 'Open your gate quickly, for this is the fortune
of France.'[9] The captain knew then it was the king, and opened the
gate and let down the bridge. Then the king entered, and he had with
him but five barons, sir John of Hainault, sir Charles of Montmorency,
the lord of Beaujeu, the lord d'Aubigny and the lord of Montsault. The
king would not tarry there, but drank and departed thence about
midnight, and so rode by such guides as knew the country till he came
in the morning to Amiens, and there he rested.
[9] 'C'est la fortune de France': but the better MSS. have
'c'est li infortunés rois de France.'
This Saturday the Englishmen never departed from their battles for
chasing of any man, but kept still their field, and ever defended
themselves against all such as came to assail them. This battle ended
about evensong time.
HOW THE NEXT DAY AFTER THE BATTLE THE ENGLISHMEN DISCOMFITED DIVERS
FRENCHMEN
On this Saturday, when the night was come and that the Englishmen
heard no more noise of the Frenchmen, then they reputed themselves to
have the victory, and the Frenchmen to be discomfited, slain and fled
away. Then they made great fires and lighted up torches and candles,
because it was very dark. Then the king avaled down from the little
hill whereas he stood; and of all that day till then his helm came
never on his head. Then he went with all his battle to his son the
prince and embraced him in his arms and kissed him, and said: 'Fair
son, God give you good perseverance; ye are my good son, thus ye have
acquitted you nobly: ye are worthy to keep a realm.' The prince
inclined himself to the earth, honouring the king his father.
This night they thanked God for their good adventure and made no boast
thereof, for the king would that no man should be proud or make boast,
but every man humbly to thank God. On the Sunday in the morning there
was such a mist, that a man might not see the breadth of an acre of
land from him. Then there departed from the host by the commandment of
the king and marshals five hundred spears and two thousand archers, to
see if they might see any Frenchmen gathered again together in any
place. The same morning out of Abbeville and Saint-Riquiers in
Ponthieu the commons of Rouen and of Beauvais issued out of their
towns, not knowing of the discomfiture of the day before. They met
with the Englishmen weening they had been Frenchmen, and when the
Englishmen saw them, they set on them freshly, and there was a sore
battle; but at last the Frenchmen fled and kept none array. There were
slain in the ways and in hedges and bushes more than seven thousand,
and if the day had been clear there had never a one escaped. Anon
after, another company of Frenchmen were met by the Englishmen, the
archbishop of Rouen and the great prior of France, who also knew
nothing of the discomfiture the day before, for they heard that the
French king should have fought the same Sunday, and they were going
thitherward. When they met with the Englishmen, there was a great
battle, for they were a great number, but they could not endure
against the Englishmen; for they were nigh all slain, few escaped; the
two lords were slain. This morning the Englishmen met with divers
Frenchmen that had lost their way on the Saturday and had lain all
night in the fields, and wist not where the king was nor the captains.
They were all slain, as many as were met with; and it was shewed me
that of the commons and men afoot of the cities and good towns of
France there was slain four times as many as were slain the Saturday
in the great battle.
HOW THE NEXT DAY AFTER THE BATTLE OF CRESSY THEY THAT WERE DEAD WERE
NUMBERED BY THE ENGLISHMEN
The same Sunday, as the king of England came from mass, such as had
been sent forth returned and shewed the king what they had seen and
done, and said: 'Sir, we think surely there is now no more appearance
of any of our enemies.' Then the king sent to search how many were
slain and what they were. Sir Raynold Cobham and Sir Richard Stafford
with three heralds went to search the field and country: they visited
all them that were slain and rode all day in the fields, and returned
again to the host as the king was going to supper. They made just
report of that they had seen, and said how there were eleven great
princes dead, fourscore banners, twelve hundred knights, and more than
thirty thousand other.[1] The Englishmen kept still their field all
that night: on the Monday in the morning the king prepared to depart:
the king caused the dead bodies of the great lords to be taken up and
conveyed to Montreuil, and there buried in holy ground, and made a cry
in the country to grant truce for three days, to the intent that they
of the country might search the field of Cressy to bury the dead
bodies.
[1] Another text makes the loss of persons below the rank of
knight 15,000 or 16,000, including the men of the towns. Both
estimates must be greatly exaggerated. Michael of Northburgh says
that 1542 were killed in the battle and about 2000 on the next
day. The great princes killed were the king of Bohemia, the duke
of Lorraine, the earls of Alençon, Flanders, Blois, Auxerre,
Harcourt, Saint-Pol, Aumale, the grand prior of France and the
archbishop of Rouen.
Then the king went forth and came before the town of
Montreuil-by-the-sea, and his marshals ran toward Hesdin and Brent
Waben and Serain, but they did nothing to the castle, it was so strong
and so well kept. They lodged that night on the river of Hesdin
towards Blangy. The next day they rode toward Boulogne and came to the
town of Wissant: there the king and the prince lodged, and tarried
there a day to refresh his men, and on the Wednesday the king came
before the strong town of Calais.
THE BATTLE OF POITIERS
OF THE GREAT HOST THAT THE FRENCH KING BROUGHT TO THE BATTLE OF
POITIERS
After the taking of the castle of Romorantin and of them that were
therein, the prince then and his company rode as they did before,
destroying the country, approaching to Anjou and to Touraine. The
French king, who was at Chartres, departed and came to Blois and there
tarried two days, and then to Amboise and the next day to Loches: and
then he heard how that the prince was at Touraine[1] and how that he
was returning by Poitou: ever the Englishmen were coasted by certain
expert knights of France, who alway made report to the king what the
Englishmen did. Then the king came to the Haye in Touraine and his men
had passed the river of Loire, some at the bridge of Orleans and some
at Meung, at Saumur, at Blois, and at Tours and whereas they might:
they were in number a twenty thousand men of arms beside other; there
were a twenty-six dukes and earls and more than sixscore banners, and
the four sons of the king, who were but young, the duke Charles of
Normandy, the lord Louis, that was from thenceforth duke of Anjou, and
the lord John duke of Berry, and the lord Philip, who was after duke
of Burgoyne. The same season, pope Innocent the sixth sent the lord
Bertrand, cardinal of Perigord, and the lord Nicholas, cardinal of
Urgel, into France, to treat for a peace between the French king and
all his enemies, first between him and the king of Navarre, who was in
prison: and these cardinals oftentimes spake to the king for his
deliverance during the siege at Bretuel, but they could do nothing in
that behalf. Then the cardinal of Perigord went to Tours, and there he
heard how the French king hasted sore to find the Englishmen: then he
rode to Poitiers, for he heard how both the hosts drew thitherward.
[1] 'En Touraine.'
The French king heard how the prince hasted greatly to return, and the
king feared that he should scape him and so departed from Haye in
Touraine, and all his company, and rode to Chauvigny, where he tarried
that Thursday in the town and without along by the river of Creuse,
and the next day the king passed the river at the bridge there,
weening that the Englishmen had been before him, but they were not.
Howbeit they pursued after and passed the bridge that day more than
threescore thousand horses, and divers other passed at Chatelleraut,
and ever as they passed they took the way to Poitiers.
On the other side the prince wist not truly where the Frenchmen were;
but they supposed that they were not far off, for they could not find
no more forage, whereby they had great fault in their host of victual,
and some of them repented that they had destroyed so much as they had
done before when they were in Berry, Anjou and Touraine, and in that
they had made no better provision. The same Friday three great lords
of France, the lord of Craon, the lord Raoul of Coucy and the earl of
Joigny, tarried all day in the town of Chauvigny, and part of their
companies. The Saturday they passed the bridge and followed the king,
who was then a three leagues before, and took the way among bushes
without a wood side to go to Poitiers.
The same Saturday the prince and his company dislodged from a little
village thereby, and sent before him certain currours to see if they
might find any adventure and to hear where the Frenchmen were. They
were in number a threescore men of arms well horsed, and with them was
the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt and the lord John of Ghistelles, and
by adventure the Englishmen and Frenchmen met together by the foresaid
wood side. The Frenchmen knew anon how they were their enemies; then
in haste they did on their helmets and displayed their banners and
came a great pace towards the Englishmen: they were in number a two
hundred men of arms. When the Englishmen saw them, and that they were
so great a number, then they determined to fly and let the Frenchmen
chase them, for they knew well the prince with his host was not far
behind. Then they turned their horses and took the corner of the wood,
and the Frenchmen after them crying their cries and made great noise.
And as they chased, they came on the prince's battle or they were ware
thereof themselves; the prince tarried there to have word again from
them that he sent forth. The lord Raoul de Coucy with his banner went
so far forward that he was under the prince's banner: there was a sore
battle and the knight fought valiantly; howbeit he was there taken,
and the earl of Joigny, the viscount of Brosse, the lord of Chauvigny
and all the other taken or slain, but a few that scaped. And by the
prisoners the prince knew how the French king followed him in such
wise that he could not eschew the battle:[2] then he assembled
together all his men and commanded that no man should go before the
marshals' banners. Thus the prince rode that Saturday from the morning
till it was against night, so that he came within two little leagues
of Poitiers. Then the captal de Buch, sir Aymenion of Pommiers, the
lord Bartholomew of Burghersh and the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt, all
these the prince sent forth to see if they might know what the
Frenchmen did. These knights departed with two hundred men of arms
well horsed; they rode so far that they saw the great battle of the
king's, they saw all the fields covered with men of arms. These
Englishmen could not forbear, but set on the tail of the French host
and cast down many to the earth and took divers prisoners, so that the
host began to stir, and tidings thereof came to the French king as he
was entering into the city of Poitiers. Then he returned again and
made all his host do the same, so that Saturday it was very late or he
was lodged in the field. The English currours returned again to the
prince and shewed him all that they saw and knew, and said how the
French host was a great number of people. 'Well,' said the prince, 'in
the name of God let us now study how we shall fight with them at our
advantage.' That night the Englishmen lodged in a strong place among
hedges, vines and bushes, and their host well watched, and so was the
French host.
[2] Or rather, 'that the French king had gone in front of them
(les avoit advancez) and that he could in no way depart without
being fought with.'
OF THE ORDER OF THE FRENCHMEN BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POITIERS
On the Sunday in the morning the French king, who had great desire to
fight with the Englishmen, heard his mass in his pavilion and was
houselled, and his four sons with him. After mass there came to him
the duke of Orleans, the duke of Bourbon, the earl of Ponthieu, the
lord Jaques of Bourbon,[1] the duke of Athens, constable of France,
the earl of Tancarville, the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl of
Dammartin, the earl of Ventadour, and divers other great barons of
France and of other neighbours holding of France, as the lord
Clermont, the lord Arnold d'Audrehem, marshal of France, the lord of
Saint-Venant, the lord John of Landas, the lord Eustace Ribemont, the
lord Fiennes, the lord Geoffrey of Charny, the lord Chatillon, the
lord of Sully, the lord of Nesle, sir Robert Duras and divers other;
all these with the king went to counsel. Then finally it was ordained
that all manner of men should draw into the field, and every lord to
display his banner and to set forth in the name of God and Saint
Denis: then trumpets blew up through the host and every man mounted on
horseback and went into the field, where they saw the king's banner
wave with the wind. There might a been seen great nobless of fair
harness and rich armoury of banners and pennons; for there was all the
flower of France, there was none durst abide at home without he would
be shamed for ever. Then it was ordained by the advice of the
constable and marshals to be made three battles, and in each ward
sixteen thousand men of arms all mustered and passed for men of arms.
The first battle the duke of Orleans to govern, with thirty-six
banners and twice as many pennons, the second the duke of Normandy and
his two brethren the lord Louis and the lord John, the third the king
himself: and while that these battles were setting in array, the king
called to him the lord Eustace Ribemont, the lord John of Landas and
the lord Richard of Beaujeu, and said to them; 'Sirs, ride on before
to see the dealing of the Englishmen and advise well what number they
be and by what means we may fight with them, other afoot or
a-horseback.' These three knights rode forth and the king was on a
white courser and said a-high to his men: 'Sirs, among you, when ye be
at Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen or at Orleans, then ye do threat the
Englishmen and desire to be in arms out against them. Now ye be come
thereto: I shall now shew you them: now shew forth your evil will that
ye bear them and revenge your displeasures and damages that they have
done you, for without doubt we shall fight with them.' Such as heard
him said: 'Sir, in God's name so be it; that would we see[2] gladly.'
[1] That is, Jaques de Bourbon, earl of la Marche and Ponthieu.
[2] 'Verrons': but a better reading is 'ferons,' 'that will we
do gladly.'
Therewith the three knights returned again to the king, who demanded
of them tidings. Then sir Eustace of Ribemont answered for all and
said: 'Sir, we have seen the Englishmen: by estimation they be two
thousand men of arms and four thousand archers and a fifteen hundred
of other. Howbeit they be in a strong place, and as far as we can
imagine they are in one battle; howbeit they be wisely ordered, and
along the way they have fortified strongly the hedges and bushes: one
part of their archers are along by the hedge, so that none can go nor
ride that way, but must pass by them, and that way must ye go an ye
purpose to fight with them. In this hedge there is but one entry and
one issue by likelihood that four horsemen may ride afront. At the end
of this hedge, whereas no man can go nor ride, there be men of arms
afoot and archers afore them in manner of a herse, so that they will
not be lightly discomfited,'[3] 'Well,' said the king, 'what will ye
then counsel us to do?' Sir Eustace said: 'Sir, let us all be afoot,
except three hundred men of arms, well horsed, of the best in your
host and most hardiest, to the intent they somewhat to break and to
open the archers, and then your battles to follow on quickly afoot and
so to fight with their men of arms hand to hand. This is the best
advice that I can give you: if any other think any other way better,
let him speak.'
[3] The translation of this passage is unsatisfactory. It should
be: 'Howbeit they have ordered it wisely, and have taken post
along the road, which is fortified strongly with hedges and
thickets, and they have beset this hedge on one side (_or
according to another text_, on one side and on the other) with
their archers, so that one cannot enter nor ride along their road
except by them, and that way must he go who purposes to fight
with them. In this hedge there is but one entry and one issue,
where by likelihood four men of arms, as on the road, might ride
a-front. At the end of this hedge among vines and thorn-bushes,
where no man can go nor ride, are their men of arms all afoot,
and they have set in front of them their archers in manner of a
harrow, whom it would not be easy to discomfit.
The king said: 'Thus shall it be done': then the two marshals rode
from battle to battle and chose out a three hundred knights and
squires of the most expert men of arms of all the host, every man well
armed and horsed. Also it was ordained that the battles of Almains
should abide still on horseback to comfort the marshals, if need were,
whereof the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl of Nidau and the earl of
Nassau were captains. King John of France was there armed, and twenty
other in his apparel; and he did put the guiding of his eldest son to
the lord of Saint-Venant, the lord of Landas and the lord Thibault of
Vaudenay; and the lord Arnold of Cervolles, called the archpriest,[4]
was armed in the armour of the young earl of Alençon.
[4] Arnaud de Cervolles, one of the most celebrated adventurers
of the 14th century, called the archpriest because though a
layman he possessed the ecclesiastical fief of Vélines.
HOW THE CARDINAL OF PERIGORD TREATED TO MAKE AGREEMENT BETWEEN THE
FRENCH KING AND THE PRINCE BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POITIERS
When the French king's battles was ordered and every lord under his
banner among their own men, then it was commanded that every man
should cut their spears to a five foot long and every man to put off
their spurs. Thus as they were ready to approach, the cardinal of
Perigord[1] came in great haste to the king. He came the same morning
from Poitiers; he kneeled down to the king and held up his hands and
desired him for God's sake a little to abstain setting forward till he
had spoken with him: then he said: 'Sir, ye have here all the flower
of your realm against a handful of Englishmen as to regard your
company,[2] and, sir, if ye may have them accorded to you without
battle, it shall be more profitable and honourable to have them by
that manner rather than to adventure so noble chivalry as ye have here
present. Sir, I require you in the name of God and humility that I may
ride to the prince and shew him what danger ye have him in,' The king
said: 'It pleaseth me well, but return again shortly.' The cardinal
departed and diligently he rode to the prince, who was among his men
afoot: then the cardinal alighted and came to the prince, who received
him courteously. Then the cardinal after his salutation made he said:
'Certainly, fair son, if you and your council advise justly the
puissance of the French king, ye will suffer me to treat to make a
peace between you, an I may,' The prince, who was young and lusty,
said: 'Sir, the honour of me and of my people saved, I would gladly
fall to any reasonable way.' Then the cardinal said: 'Sir, ye say
well, and I shall accord you, an I can; for it should be great pity if
so many noblemen and other as be here on both parties should come
together by battle,' Then the cardinal rode again to the king and
said: 'Sir, ye need not to make any great haste to fight with your
enemies, for they cannot fly from you though they would, they be in
such a ground: wherefore, sir, I require you forbear for this day till
tomorrow the sun-rising.' The king was loath to agree thereto, for
some of his council would not consent to it; but finally the cardinal
shewed such reasons, that the king accorded that respite: and in the
same place there was pight up a pavilion of red silk fresh and rich,
and gave leave for that day every man to draw to their lodgings except
the constable's and marshals' battles.
[1] Talleyrand de Périgord.
[2] The meaning is, 'Ye have here all the flower of your realm
against a handful of people, for so the Englishmen are as
compared with your company.'
That Sunday all the day the cardinal travailed in riding from the one
host to the other gladly to agree them: but the French king would
not agree without he might have four of the principallest of the
Englishmen at his pleasure, and the prince and all the other to yield
themselves simply: howbeit there were many great offers made. The
prince offered to render into the king's hands all that ever he had
won in that voyage, towns and castles, and to quit all prisoners that
he or any of his men had taken in that season, and also to swear not
to be armed against the French king in seven year after; but the king
and his council would none thereof: the uttermost that he would do
was, that the prince and a hundred of his knights should yield
themselves into the king's prison; otherwise he would not: the which
the prince would in no wise agree unto.
In the mean season that the cardinal rode thus between the hosts in
trust to do some good, certain knights of France and of England both
rode forth the same Sunday, because it was truce for that day, to
coast the hosts and to behold the dealing of their enemies. So it
fortuned that the lord John Chandos rode the same day coasting the
French host, and in like manner the lord of Clermont, one of the
French marshals, had ridden forth and aviewed the state of the English
host; and as these two knights returned towards their hosts, they met
together: each of them bare one manner of device, a blue lady
embroidered in a sunbeam above on their apparel. Then the lord
Clermont said: 'Chandos, how long have ye taken on you to bear my
device?' 'Nay, ye bear mine,' said Chandos, 'for it is as well mine as
yours.' 'I deny that,' said Clermont, 'but an it were not for the
truce this day between us, I should make it good on you incontinent
that ye have no right to bear my device.' 'Ah, sir,' said Chandos, 'ye
shall find me to-morrow ready to defend you and to prove by feat of
arms that it is as well mine as yours,' Then Clermont said: 'Chandos,
these be well the words of you Englishmen, for ye can devise nothing
of new, but all that ye see is good and fair.' So they departed
without any more doing, and each of them returned to their host.
The cardinal of Perigord could in no wise that Sunday make any
agreement between the parties, and when it was near night he returned
to Poitiers. That night the Frenchmen took their ease; they had
provision enough, and the Englishmen had great default; they could get
no forage, nor they could not depart thence without danger of their
enemies. That Sunday the Englishmen made great dikes and hedges about
their archers, to be the more stronger; and on the Monday in the
morning the prince and his company were ready apparelled as they were
before, and about the sun-rising in like manner were the Frenchmen.
The same morning betimes the cardinal came again to the French host
and thought by his preaching to pacify the parties; but then the
Frenchmen said to him: 'Return whither ye will: bring hither no more
words of treaty nor peace: and ye love yourself depart shortly.' When
the cardinal saw that he travailed in vain, he took leave of the king
and then he went to the prince and said: 'Sir, do what ye can; there
is no remedy but to abide the battle, for I can find none accord in
the French king.' Then the prince said: 'The same is our intent and
all our people: God help the right!' So the cardinal returned to
Poitiers. In his company there were certain knights and squires, men
of arms, who were more favourable to the French king than to the
prince; and when they saw that the parties should fight, they stale
from their masters and went to the French host; and they made their
captain the chatelain of Amposte,[3] who was as then there with the
cardinal, who knew nothing thereof till he was come to Poitiers.
[3] Amposta, a fortress in Catalonia.
The certainty of the order of the Englishmen was shewed to the French
king, except they had ordained three hundred men a-horseback and as
many archers a-horseback to coast under covert of the mountain and to
strike into the battle of the duke of Normandy, who was under the
mountain afoot. This ordinance they had made of new, that the
Frenchmen knew not of. The prince was with his battle down among the
vines and had closed in the weakest part with their carnages.
Now will I name some of the principal lords and knights that were
there with the prince: the earl of Warwick, the earl of Suffolk, the
earl of Salisbury, the earl of Oxford, the lord Raynold Cobham, the
lord Spencer, the lord James Audley, the lord Peter his brother, the
lord Berkeley, the lord Bassett, the lord Warin, the lord Delaware,
the lord Manne, the lord Willoughby, the lord Bartholomew de
Burghersh, the lord of Felton, the lord Richard of Pembroke, the lord
Stephen of Cosington, the lord Bradetane and other Englishmen; and of
Gascon there was the lord of Pommiers, the lord of Languiran, the
captal of Buch, the lord John of Caumont, the lord de Lesparre, the
lord of Rauzan, the lord of Condon, the lord of Montferrand, the lord
of Landiras, the lord soudic of Latrau and other that I cannot name;
and of Hainowes the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt, the lord John of
Ghistelles, and two other strangers, the lord Daniel Pasele and the
lord Denis of Morbeke: all the prince's company passed not an eight
thousand men one and other, and the Frenchmen were a sixty thousand
fighting men, whereof there were more than three thousand knights.
OF THE BATTLE OF POITIERS BETWEEN THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE FRENCH
KING
When the prince saw that he should have battle and that the cardinal
was gone without any peace or truce making, and saw that the French
king did set but little store by him, he said then to his men: 'Now,
sirs, though we be but a small company as in regard to the puissance
of our enemies, let us not be abashed therefor; for the victory lieth
not in the multitude of people, but whereas God will send it. If it
fortune that the journey be ours, we shall be the most honoured people
of all the world; and if we die in our right quarrel, I have the king
my father and brethren, and also ye have good friends and kinsmen;
these shall revenge us. Therefore, sirs, for God's sake I require you
do your devoirs this day; for if God be pleased and Saint George, this
day ye shall see me a good knight.' These words and such other that
the prince spake comforted all his people. The lord sir John Chandos
that day never went from the prince, nor also the lord James Audley of
a great season; but when he saw that they should needs fight, he said
to the prince: 'Sir, I have served always truly my lord your father
and you also, and shall do as long as I live. I say this because I
made once a vow that the first battle that other the king your father
or any of his children should be at, how that I would be one of the
first setters on,[1] or else to die in the pain: therefore I require
your grace, as in reward for any service that ever I did to the king
your father or to you, that you will give me licence to depart from
you and to set myself thereas I may accomplish my vow.' The prince
accorded to his desire and said, 'Sir James, God give you this day
that grace to be the best knight of all other,' and so took him by the
hand. Then the knight departed from the prince and went to the
foremost front of all the battles, all only accompanied with four
squires, who promised not to fail him. This lord James was a right
sage and a valiant knight, and by him was much of the host ordained
and governed the day before. Thus sir James was in front of the battle
ready to fight with the battle of the marshals of France. In like wise
the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt did his pain to be one of the foremost
to set on. When sir James Audley began to set forward to his enemies,
it fortuned to sir Eustace d'Aubrecicourt as ye shall hear after. Ye
have heard before how the Almains in the French host were appointed to
be still a-horseback. Sir Eustace being a-horseback laid his spear in
the rest and ran into the French battle, and then a knight of Almaine,
called the lord Louis of Recombes, who bare a shield silver, five
roses gules, and sir Eustace bare ermines, two branches of
gules[2],--when this Almain saw the lord Eustace come from his
company, he rode against him and they met so rudely, that both knights
fell to the earth. The Almain was hurt in the shoulder, therefore he
rose not so quickly as did sir Eustace, who when he was up and had
taken his breath, he came to the other knight as he lay on the ground;
but then five other knights of Almaine came on him all at once and
bare him to the earth, and so perforce there he was taken prisoner and
brought to the earl of Nassau, who as then took no heed of him; and I
cannot say whether they sware him prisoner or no, but they tied him to
a chare and there let him stand[3].
[1] The first setter-on and the best combatant.
[2] That is, two hamedes gules on a field ermine.
[3] They tied him on to a cart with their harness.
Then the battle began on all parts, and the battles of the marshals of
France approached, and they set forth that were appointed to break the
array of the archers. They entered a-horseback into the way where the
great hedges were on both sides set full of archers. As soon as the
men of arms entered, the archers began to shoot on both sides and did
slay and hurt horses and knights, so that the horses when they felt
the sharp arrows they would in no wise go forward, but drew aback and
flang and took on so fiercely, that many of them fell on their
masters, so that for press they could not rise again; insomuch that
the marshals' battle could never come at the prince. Certain knights
and squires that were well horsed passed through the archers and
thought to approach to the prince, but they could not. The lord James
Audley with his four squires was in the front of that battle and there
did marvels in arms, and by great prowess he came and fought with sir
Arnold d'Audrehem under his own banner, and there they fought long
together and sir Arnold was there sore handled. The battle of the
marshals began to disorder by reason of the shot of the archers with
the aid of the men of arms, who came in among them and slew of them
and did what they list, and there was the lord Arnold d'Audrehem taken
prisoner by other men than by sir James Audley or by his four squires;
for that day he never took prisoner, but always fought and went on his
enemies.
Also on the French party the lord John Clermont fought under his own
banner as long as he could endure: but there he was beaten down and
could not be relieved nor ransomed, but was slain without mercy: some
said it was because of the words that he had the day before to sir
John Chandos. So within a short space the marshals' battles were
discomfited, for they fell one upon another and could not go forth;[4]
and the Frenchmen that were behind and could not get forward reculed
back and came on the battle of the duke of Normandy, the which was
great and thick and were afoot, but anon they began to open behind;[5]
for when they knew that the marshals' battle was discomfited, they
took their horses and departed, he that might best. Also they saw a
rout of Englishmen coming down a little mountain a-horseback, and many
archers with them, who brake in on the side of the duke's battle. True
to say, the archers did their company that day great advantage; for
they shot so thick that the Frenchmen wist not on what side to take
heed, and little and little the Englishmen won ground on them.
[4] 'Ne posient aler avant.'
[5] 'Which was great and thick in front (pardevant), but anon
it became open and thin behind.'
And when the men of arms of England saw that the marshals' battle was
discomfited and that the duke's battle began to disorder and open,
they leapt then on their horses, the which they had ready by them:
then they assembled together and cried, 'Saint George! Guyenne!' and
the lord Chandos said to the prince: 'Sir, take your horse and ride
forth; this journey is yours: God is this day in your hands: get us to
the French king's battle, for their lieth all the sore of the matter.
I think verily by his valiantness he will not fly: I trust we shall
have him by the grace of God and Saint George, so he be well fought
withal: and, sir, I heard you say that this day I should see you a
good knight.' The prince said, 'Let us go forth; ye shall not see me
this day return back,' and said, 'Advance, banner, in the name of God
and of Saint George,' The knight that bare it did his commandment:
there was then a sore battle and a perilous, and many a man
overthrown, and he that was once down could not be relieved again
without great succour and aid. As the prince rode and entered in among
his enemies, he saw on his right hand in a little bush lying dead the
lord Robert of Duras and his banner by him,[6] and a ten or twelve of
his men about him. Then the prince said to two of his squires and to
three archers: 'Sirs, take the body of this knight on a targe and bear
him to Poitiers, and present him from me to the cardinal of Perigord,
and say how I salute him by that token.' And this was done. The prince
was informed that the cardinal's men were on the field against him,
the which was not pertaining to the right order of arms, for men of
the church that cometh and goeth for treaty of peace ought not by
reason to bear harness nor to fight for neither of the parties; they
ought to be indifferent: and because these men had done so, the prince
was displeased with the cardinal, and therefore he sent unto him his
nephew the lord Robert of Duras dead: and the chatelain of Amposte was
taken, and the prince would have had his head stricken off, because he
was pertaining to the cardinal, but then the lord Chandos said: 'Sir,
suffer for a season: intend to a greater matter: and peradventure the
cardinal will make such excuse that ye shall be content.'
[6] The original adds, 'qui estoit de France au sentoir (sautoir)
de gueulles.'
Then the prince and his company dressed them on the battle of the duke
of Athens, constable of France. There was many a man slain and cast to
the earth. As the Frenchmen fought in companies, they cried,
'Mountjoy! Saint Denis!' and the Englishmen, 'Saint George! Guyenne!'
Anon the prince with his company met with the battle of Almains,
whereof the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl Nassau and the earl Nidau
were captains, but in a short space they were put to flight: the
archers shot so wholly together that none durst come in their dangers:
they slew many a man that could not come to no ransom: these three
earls was there slain, and divers other knights and squires of their
company, and there was the lord d'Aubrecieourt rescued, by his own men
and set on horseback, and after he did that day many feats of arms and
took good prisoners. When the duke of Normandy's battle saw the prince
approach, they thought to save themselves, and so the duke and the
king's children, the earl of Poitiers and the earl of Touraine, who
were right young, believed their governours and so departed from the
field, and with them more than eight hundred spears, that strake no
stroke that day. Howbeit the lord Guichard d'Angle and the lord John
of Saintré, who were with the earl of Poitiers, would not fly, but
entered into the thickest press of the battle. The king's three sons
took the way to Chauvigny, and the lord John of Landas and the lord
Thibauld of Vaudenay, who were set to await on the duke of Normandy,
when they had brought the duke a long league from the battle, then
they took leave of the duke and desired the lord of Saint-Venant that
he should not leave the duke, but to bring him in safeguard, whereby
he should win more thank of the king than to abide still in the field.
Then they met also the duke of Orleans and a great company with him,
who were also departed from the field with clear hands: there were
many good knights and squires, though that their masters departed from
the field, yet they had rather a died than to have had any reproach.
Then the king's battle came on the Englishmen: there was a sore fight
and many a great stroke given and received. The king and his youngest
son met with the battle of the English marshals, the earl of Warwick
and the earl of Suffolk, and with them of Gascons the captal of Buch,
the lord of Pommiers, the lord Amery of Tastes, the lord of Mussidan,
the lord of Languiran and the lord de Latrau. To the French party
there came time enough the lord John of Landas and the lord of
Vaudenay; they alighted afoot and went into the king's battle, and a
little beside fought the duke of Athens, constable of France, and a
little above him the duke of Bourbon and many good knights of
Bourbonnais and of Picardy with him, and a little on the one side
there were the Poitevins, the lord de Pons, the lord of Partenay, the
lord of Dammartin, the lord of Tannay-Bouton, the lord of Surgieres,
the lord John Saintré, the lord Guichard d'Angle, the lord Argenton,
the lord of Linieres, the lord of Montendre and divers other, also the
viscount of Rochechouart and the earl of Aunay;[7] and of Burgoyne the
lord James of Beaujeu, the lord de Chateau-Vilain and other: in
another part there was the earl of Ventadour and of Montpensier, the
lord James of Bourbon, the lord John d'Artois and also the lord James
his brother, the lord Arnold of Cervolles, called the archpriest,
armed for the young earl of Alençon; and of Auvergne there was the
lord of Mercoeur, the lord de la Tour, the lord of Chalençon, the lord
of Montaigu, the lord of Rochfort, the lord d'Acier, the lord d'Acon;
and of Limousin there was the lord de Melval, the lord of Mareuil, the
lord of Pierrebuffiere; and of Picardy there was the lord William of
Nesle, the lord Arnold of Rayneval, the lord Geoffrey of Saint-Dizier,
the lord of Chauny, the lord of Helly, the lord of Montsault, the lord
of Hangest and divers other: and also in the king's battle there was
the earl Douglas of Scotland, who fought a season right valiantly, but
when he saw the discomfiture, he departed and saved himself; for in no
wise he would be taken of the Englishmen, he had rather been there
slain. On the English part the lord James Audley with the aid of his
four squires fought always in the chief of the battle: he was sore
hurt in the body and in the visage: as long as his breath served him
he fought; at last at the end of the battle his four squires took and
brought him out of the field and laid him under a hedge side for to
refresh him; and they unarmed him and bound up his wounds as well as
they could. On the French party king John was that day a full right
good knight: if the fourth part of his men had done their devoirs as
well as he did, the journey had been his by all likelihood. Howbeit
they were all slain and taken that were there, except a few that saved
themselves, that were with the king.[8] There was slain the duke Peter
of Bourbon, the lord Guichard of Beaujeu, the lord of Landas, and the
duke of Athens, constable of France, the bishop of Chalons in
Champagne, the lord William of Nesle, the lord Eustace of Ribemont,
the lord de la Tour, the lord William of Montaigu, sir Grismouton of
Chambly, sir Baudrin de la Heuse, and many other, as they fought by
companies; and there were taken prisoners the lord of Vaudenay, the
lord of Pompadour, and the archpriest, sore hurt, the earl of
Vaudimont, the earl of Mons, the earl of Joinville, the earl of
Vendome, sir Louis of Melval, the lord Pierrebuffiere and the lord of
Serignac: there were at that brunt, slain and taken more than two
hundred knights.[9]
[7] Le conte d'Aulnoy,' but it should be 'visconte.'
[8] 'Howbeit they that stayed acquitted them as well as they
might, so that they were all slain or taken. Few escaped of those
that set themselves with the king': or according to the fuller
text: 'Few escaped of those that alighted down on the sand by the
side of the king their lord.'
[9] The translator has chosen to rearrange the above list of
killed, wounded or taken, which the French text gives in order
as they fought, saying that in one part there fell the duke of
Bourbon, sir Guichard of Beaujeu and sir John on Landas, and
there were severely wounded or taken the arch-priest, sir Thibaud
of Vodenay and sir Baudouin, d'Annequin; in another there were
slain the duke of Athens and the bishop of Chalons, and taken the
earl of Vaudemont and Joinville and the earl of Vendome: a little
above this there were slain sir William de Nesle, sir Eustace de
Ribemont and others, and taken sir Louis de Melval, the lord of
Pierrebuffière and the lord of Seregnach.
OF TWO FRENCHMEN THAT FLED FROM THE BATTLE OF POITIERS AND TWO
ENGLISHMEN THAT FOLLOWED THEM
Among the battles, recounterings, chases and pursuits that were made
that day in the field, it fortuned so to sir Oudart of Renty that when
he departed from the field because he saw the field was lost without
recovery, he thought not to abide the danger of the Englishmen;
wherefore he fled all alone and was gone out of the field a league,
and an English knight pursued him and ever cried to him and said,
'Return again, sir knight, it is a shame to fly away thus.' Then the
knight turned, and the English knight thought to have stricken him
with his spear in the targe, but he failed, for sir Oudart swerved
aside from the stroke, but he failed not the English knight, for he
strake him such a stroke on the helm with his sword, that he was
astonied and fell from his horse to the earth and lay still. Then sir
Oudart alighted and came to him or he could rise, and said, 'Yield
you, rescue or no rescue, or else I shall slay you.' The Englishman
yielded and went with him, and afterward was ransomed. Also it
fortuned that another squire of Picardy called John de Hellenes was
fled from the battle and met with his page, who delivered him a new
fresh horse, whereon he rode away alone. The same season there was in
the field the lord Berkeley of England, a young lusty knight, who the
same day reared his banner, and he all alone pursued the said John of
Hellenes. And when he had followed the space of a league, the said
John turned again and laid his sword in the rest instead of a spear,
and so came running toward the lord Berkeley, who lift up his sword to
have stricken the squire; but when he saw the stroke come, he turned
from it, so that the Englishman lost his stroke and John strake him as
he passed on the arm, that the lord Berkeley's sword fell into the
field. When he saw his sword down, he lighted suddenly off his horse
and came to the place where his sword lay, and as he stooped down to
take up his sword, the French squire did pike his sword at him, and by
hap strake him through both the thighs, so that the knight fell to the
earth and could not help himself. And John alighted off his horse and
took the knight's sword that lay on the ground, and came to him and
demanded if he would yield him or not. The knight then demanded his
name. 'Sir,' said he, 'I hight John of Hellenes; but what is your
name?' 'Certainly,' said the knight, 'my name is Thomas and am lord of
Berkeley, a fair castle on the river of Severn in the marches of
Wales.' 'Well, sir,' quoth the squire, 'then ye shall be my prisoner,
and I shall bring you in safe-guard and I shall see that you shall be
healed of your hurt.' 'Well,' said the knight, 'I am content to be
your prisoner, for ye have by law of arms won me.' There he sware to
be his prisoner, rescue or no rescue. Then the squire drew forth the
sword out of the knight's thighs and the wound was open: then he
wrapped and bound the wound and set him on his horse and so brought
him fair and easily to Chatelleraut, and there tarried more than
fifteen days for his sake and did get him remedy for his hurt: and
when he was somewhat amended, then he gat him a litter and so brought
him at his ease to his house in Picardy. There he was more than a year
till he was perfectly whole; and when he departed he paid for his
ransom six thousand nobles, and so this squire was made a knight by
reason of the profit that he had of the lord Berkeley.
HOW KING JOHN WAS TAKEN PRISONER AT THE BATTLE OF POITIERS
Oftentimes the adventures of amours and of war are more fortunate and
marvellous than any man can think or wish. Truly this battle, the
which was near to Poitiers in the fields of Beauvoir and Maupertuis,
was right great and perilous, and many deeds of arms there was done
the which all came not to knowledge. The fighters on both sides
endured much pain: king John with his own hands did that day marvels
in arms: he had an axe in his hands wherewith he defended himself and
fought in the breaking of the press. Near to the king there was taken
the earl of Tancarville, sir Jaques of Bourbon earl of Ponthieu, and
the lord John of Artois earl of Eu, and a little above that under the
banner of the capital of Buch was taken sir Charles of Artois and
divers other knights and squires. The chase endured to the gates of
Poitiers: there were many slain and beaten down, horse and man, for
they of Poitiers closed their gates and would suffer none to enter;
wherefore in the street before the gate was horrible murder, men hurt
and beaten down. The Frenchmen yielded themselves as far off as they
might know an Englishman: there were divers English archers that had
four, five or six prisoners: the lord of Pons, a great baron of
Poitou, was there slain, and many other knights and squires; and there
was taken the earl of Rochechouart, the lord of Dammartin, the lord of
Partenay, and of Saintonge the lord of Montendre and the lord John of
Saintré, but he was so sore hurt that he had never health after: he
was reputed for one of the best knights in France. And there was left
for dead among other dead men the lord Guichard d'Angle, who fought
that day by the king right valiantly, and so did the lord of Charny,
on whom was great press, because he bare the sovereign banner of the
king's: his own banner was also in the field, the which was of gules,
three scutcheons silver. So many Englishmen and Gascons come to that
part, that perforce they opened the king's battle, so that the
Frenchmen were so mingled among their enemies that sometime there was
five men upon one gentleman. There was taken the lord of Pompadour
and[1] the lord Bartholomew de Burghersh, and there was slain sir
Geoffrey of Charny with the king's banner in his hands: also the lord
Raynold Cobham slew the earl of Dammartin. Then there was a great
press to take the king, and such as knew him cried, 'Sir, yield you,
or else ye are but dead.' There was a knight of Saint-Omer's, retained
in wages with the king of England, called sir Denis Morbeke, who had
served the Englishmen five year before, because in his youth he had
forfeited the realm of France for a murder that he did at
Saint-Omer's. It happened so well for him, that he was next to the
king when they were about to take him: he stept forth into the press,
and by strength of his body and arms he came to the French king and
said in good French, 'Sir, yield you,' The king beheld the knight and
said: 'To whom shall I yield me? Where is my cousin the prince of
Wales? If I might see him, I would speak with him.' Denis answered and
said: 'Sir, he is not here; but yield you to me and I shall bring you
to him. 'Who be you?' quoth the king. 'Sir,' quoth he, 'I am Denis of
Morbeke, a knight of Artois; but I serve the king of England because I
am banished the realm of France and I have forfeited all that I had
there,' Then the king gave him his right gauntlet, saying, 'I yield me
to you,' There was a great press about the king, for every man
enforced him to say,[2] 'I have taken him,' so that the king could not
go forward with his young son the lord Philip with him because of the
press.
[1] This 'and' should be 'by,' but the French text is responsible
for the mistake.
[2] 'S'efforçoit de dire.'
The prince of Wales, who was courageous and cruel as a lion, took that
day great pleasure to fight and to chase his enemies. The lord John
Chandos, who was with him, of all that day never left him nor never
took heed of taking of any prisoner: then at the end of the battle he
said to the prince: 'Sir, it were good that you rested here and set
your banner a-high in this bush, that your people may draw hither, for
they be sore spread abroad, nor I can see no more banners nor pennons
of the French party; wherefore, sir, rest and refresh you, for ye be
sore chafed.' Then the prince's banner was set up a-high on a bush,
and trumpets and clarions began to sown. Then the prince did off his
bassenet, and the knights for his body and they of his chamber were
ready about him, and a red pavilion pight up, and then drink was
brought forth to the prince and for such lords as were about him, the
which still increased as they came from the chase: there they tarried
and their prisoners with them. And when the two marshals were come to
the prince, he demanded of them if they knew any tiding of the French
king. They answered and said: 'Sir, we hear none of certainty, but we
think verily he is other dead or taken, for he is not gone out of the
battles.' Then the prince said to the earl of Warwick and to sir
Raynold Cobham: 'Sirs, I require you go forth and see what ye can
know, that at your return ye may shew me the truth.' These two lords
took their horses and departed from the prince and rode up a little
hill to look about them: then they perceived a flock of men of arms
coming together right wearily:[3] there was the French king afoot in
great peril, for Englishmen and Gascons were his masters; they had
taken him from sir Denis Morbeke perforce, and such as were most of
force said, 'I have taken him,' 'Nay,' quoth another, 'I have taken
him': so they strave which should have him. Then the French king, to
eschew that peril, said: 'Sirs, strive not: lead me courteously, and
my son, to my cousin the prince, and strive not for my taking, for I
am so great a lord to make you all rich.' The king's words somewhat
appeased them; howbeit ever as they went they made riot and brawled
for the taking of the king. When the two foresaid lords saw and heard
that noise and strife among them, they came to them and said: 'Sirs,
what is the matter that ye strive for?' 'Sirs,' said one of them, 'it
is for the French king, who is here taken prisoner, and there be more
than ten knights and squires that challenged the taking of him and of
his son.' Then the two lords entered into the press and caused every
man to draw aback, and commanded them in the prince's name on pain of
their heads to make no more noise nor to approach the king no nearer,
without they were commanded. Then every man gave room to the lords,
and they alighted and did their reverence to the king, and so brought
him and his son in peace and rest to the prince of Wales.
[3] 'Lentement.'
OF THE GIFT THAT THE PRINCE GAVE TO THE LORD AUDLEY AFTER THE BATTLE
OF POITIERS
As soon as the earl of Warwick and the lord Cobham were departed from
the prince, as ye have heard before, then the prince demanded of the
knights that were about him for the lord Audley, if any knew anything
of him. Some knights that were there answered and said: 'Sir, he is
sore hurt and lieth in a litter here beside.' 'By my faith,' said the
prince, 'of his hurts I am right sorry: go and know if he may be
brought hither, or else I will go and see him thereas he is.' Then two
knights came to the lord Audley and said: 'Sir, the prince desireth
greatly to see you, other ye must go to him or else he will come to
you.' 'Ah, sir,' said the knight, 'I thank the prince when he thinketh
on so poor a knight as I am.' Then he called eight of his servants and
caused them to bear him in his litter to the place whereas the prince
was. Then the prince took him in his arms and kissed him and made him
great cheer and said: 'Sir James, I ought greatly to honour you, for
by your valiance ye have this day achieved the grace and renown of us
all, and ye are reputed for the most valiant of all other,' 'Ah, sir,'
said the knight, 'ye say as it pleaseth you: I would it were so: and
if I have this day anything advanced myself to serve you and to
accomplish the vow that I made, it ought not to be reputed to me any
prowess.' 'Sir James,' said the prince, 'I and all ours take you in
this journey for the best doer in arms, and to the intent to furnish
you the better to pursue the wars, I retain you for ever to be my
knight with five hundred marks of yearly revenues, the which I shall
assign you on mine heritage in England.' 'Sir,' said the knight, 'God
grant me to deserve the great goodness that ye shew me': and so he
took his leave of the prince, for he was right feeble, and so his
servants brought him to his lodging. And as soon as he was gone, the
earl of Warwick and the lord Cobham returned to the prince and
presented to him the French king. The prince made lowly reverence to
the king and caused wine and spices to be brought forth, and himself
served the king in sign of great love.
HOW THE ENGLISHMEN WON GREATLY AT THE BATTLE OF POITIERS
Thus this battle was discomfited, as ye have heard, the which was in
the fields of Maupertuis a two leagues from Poitiers the twenty-second
day of September the year of our Lord MCCCLVI. It begun in the
morning[1] and ended at noon, but as then all the Englishmen were not
returned from the chase; therefore the prince's banner stood on a bush
to draw all his men together, but it was well nigh night or all came
from the chase. And as it was reported, there was slain all the flower
of France, and there was taken with the king and the lord Philip his
son a seventeen earls, beside barons, knights and squires, and slain a
five or six thousand of one and other. When every man was come from
the chase, they had twice as many prisoners as they were in number in
all. Then it was counselled among them because of the great charge and
doubt to keep so many, that they should put many of them to ransom
incontinent in the field, and so they did: and the prisoners found the
Englishmen and Gascons right courteous; there were many that day put
to ransom and let go all only on their promise of faith and truth to
return again between that and Christmas to Bordeaux with their
ransoms. Then that night they lay in the field beside whereas the
battle had been: some unarmed them, but not all, and unarmed all their
prisoners, and every man made good cheer to his prisoner; for that day
whosoever took any prisoner, he was clear his and might quit or ransom
him at his pleasure. All such as were there with the prince were all
made rich with honour and goods, as well by ransoming of prisoners as
by winning of gold, silver, plate, jewels, that was there found: there
was no man that did set anything by rich harness, whereof there was
great plenty, for the Frenchmen came thither richly beseen, weening to
have had the journey for them.
[1] 'Environ heure de prime.'
HOW THE LORD JAMES AUDLEY GAVE TO HIS FOUR SQUIRES THE FIVE HUNDRED
MARKS OF REVENUES THAT THE PRINCE HAD GIVEN HIM
When sir James Audley was brought to his lodging, then he sent for sir
Peter Audley his brother and for the lord Bartholomew of Burghersh,
the lord Stephen of Cosington, the lord of Willoughby and the lord
Ralph Ferrers, all these were of his lineage, and then he called
before him his four squires, that had served him that day well and
truly. Then he said to the said lords: 'Sirs, it hath pleased my lord
the prince to give me five hundred marks of revenues by year in
heritage, for the which gift I have done him but small service with my
body. Sirs, behold here these four squires, who hath always served me
truly and specially this day: that honour that I have is by their
valiantness. Wherefore I will reward them: I give and resign into
their hands the gift that my lord the prince hath given me of five
hundred marks of yearly revenues, to them and to their heirs for ever,
in like manner as it was given me. I clearly disherit me thereof and
inherit them without any repeal[1] or condition. The lords and other
that ere there, every man beheld other and said among themselves: It
cometh of a great nobleness to give this gift.' They answered him with
one voice: 'Sir, be it as God will; we shall bear witness in this
behalf wheresoever we be come.' Then they departed from him, and some
of them went to the prince, who the same night would make a supper to
the French king and to the prisoners, for they had enough to do
withal, of that the Frenchmen brought with them,[2] for the Englishmen
wanted victual before, for some in three days had no bread before.
[1] 'Rappel,' i.e. power of recalling the gift. The word
'repeal' is a correction of 'rebel.'
[2] 'Who was to give the king of France a supper of his own
provisions; for the French had brought great abundance with
them, and provisions had failed among the English,' etc.
HOW THE PRINCE MADE A SUPPER TO THE FRENCH KING THE SAME DAY OF THE
BATTLE
The same day of the battle at night the prince made a supper in his
lodging to the French king and to the most part of the great lords
that were prisoners. The prince made the king and his son, the lord
James of Bourbon, the lord John d'Artois, the earl of Tancarville, the
earl of Estampes, the earl Dammartin, the earl of Joinville and the
lord of Partenay to sit all at one board, and other lords, knights and
squires at other tables; and always the prince served before the king
as humbly as he could, and would not sit at the king's board for any
desire that the king could make, but he said he was not sufficient to
sit at the table with so great a prince as the king was. But then he
said to the king: 'Sir, for God's sake make none evil nor heavy cheer,
though God this day did not consent to follow your will; for, sir,
surely the king my father shall bear you as much honour and amity as
he may do, and shall accord with you so reasonably that ye shall ever
be friends together after. And, sir, methinks ye ought to rejoice,
though the journey be not as ye would have had it, for this day ye
have won the high renown of prowess and have passed this day in
valiantness all other of your party. Sir, I say not this to mock you,
for all that be on our party, that saw every man's deeds, are plainly
accorded by true sentence to give you the prize and chaplet.'
Therewith the Frenchmen began to murmur and said among themselves how
the prince had spoken nobly, and that by all estimation he should
prove a noble man, if God send him life and to persevere in such good
fortune.
HOW THE PRINCE RETURNED TO BORDEAUX AFTER THE BATTLE OF POITIERS
When supper was done, every man went to his lodging with their
prisoners. The same night they put many to ransom and believed them on
their faiths and troths, and ransomed them but easily, for they said
they would set no knight's ransom so high, but that he might pay at
his ease and maintain still his degree. The next day, when they had
heard mass and taken some repast and that everything was trussed and
ready, then they took their horses and rode towards Poitiers. The same
night there was come to Poitiers the lord of Roye with a hundred
spears: he was not at the battle, but he met the duke of Normandy near
to Chauvigny, and the duke sent him to Poitiers to keep the town till
they heard other tidings. When the lord of Roye knew that the
Englishmen were so near coming to the city, he caused every man to be
armed and every man to go to his defence to the walls, towers and
gates; and the Englishmen passed by without any approaching, for they
were so laded with gold, silver and prisoners, that in their returning
they assaulted no fortress; they thought it a great deed if they might
bring the French king, with their other prisoners and riches that they
had won, in safeguard to Bordeaux. They rode but small journeys
because of their prisoners and great carriages that they had: they
rode in a day no more but four or five leagues and lodged ever
betimes, and rode close together in good array saving the marshals'
battles, who rode ever before with five hundred men of arms to open
the passages as the prince should pass; but they found no encounters,
for all the country was so frayed that every man drew to the
fortresses.
As the prince rode, it was shewed him how the lord Audley had given to
his four squires the gift of the five hundred marks that he had given
unto him: then the prince sent for him and he was brought in his
litter to the prince, who received him courteously and said: 'Sir
James, we have knowledge that the revenues that we gave you, as soon
as ye came to your lodging, you gave the same to four squires: we
would know why ye did so, and whether the gift was agreeable to you or
not.' 'Sir,' said the knight, 'it is of truth I have given it to them,
and I shall shew you why I did so. These four squires that be here
present have a long season served me well and truly in many great
businesses and, sir, in this last battle they served me in such wise
that an they had never done nothing else I was bound to reward them,
and before the same day they had never nothing of me in reward. Sir, I
am but a man alone: but by the aid and comfort of them I took on me to
accomplish my vow long before made. I had been dead in the battle an
they had not been: wherefore, sir, when I considered the love that
they bare unto me, I had not been courteous if I would not a rewarded
them. I thank God I have had and shall have enough as long as I live:
I will never be abashed for lack of good. Sir, if I have done this
without your pleasure, I require you to pardon me, for, sir, both I
and my squires shall serve you as well as ever we did.' Then the
prince said: 'Sir James, for anything that ye have done I cannot blame
you, but can you good thank therefor; and for the valiantness of these
squires, whom ye praise so much, I accord to them your gift, and I
will render again to you six hundred marks in like manner as ye had
the other.'
Thus the prince and his company did so much that they passed through
Poitou and Saintonge without damage and came to Blaye, and there
passed the river of Gironde and arrived in the good city of Bordeaux.
It cannot be recorded the great feast and cheer that they of the city
with the clergy made to the prince, and how honourably they were there
received. The prince brought the French king into the abbey of Saint
Andrew's, and there they lodged both, the king in one part and the
prince in the other. The prince bought of the lords, knights and
squires of Gascoyne the most part of the earls of the realm of France,
such as were prisoners, and paid ready money for them. There was
divers questions and challenges made between the knights and squires
of Gascoyne for taking of the French king; howbeit Denis Morbeke by
right of arms and by true tokens that he shewed challenged him for his
prisoner. Another squire of Gascoyne called Bernard of Truttes said
how he had right to him: there was much ado and many words before the
prince and other lords that were there, and because these two
challenged each other to fight in that quarrel, the prince caused the
matter to rest till they came in England and that no declaration
should be made but afore the king of England his father; but because
the French king himself aided to sustain the challenge of Denis
Morbeke, for he inclined more to him than to any other, the prince
therefore privily caused to be delivered to the said sir Denis two
thousand nobles to maintain withal his estate.
Anon after the prince came to Bordeaux, the cardinal of Perigord came
thither, who was sent from the pope in legation, as it was said. He
was there more than fifteen days or the prince would speak with him
because of the chatelain of Amposte and his men, who were against him
in the battle of Poitiers. The prince believed that the cardinal sent
them thither, but the cardinal did so much by the means of the lord of
Caumont, the lord of Montferrand and the captal of Buch, who were his
cousins, they shewed so good reasons to the prince, that he was
content to hear him speak. And when he was before the prince, he
excused himself so sagely that the prince and his council held him
excused, and so he fell again into the prince's love and redeemed out
his men by reasonable ransoms; and the chatelain was set to his ransom
of ten thousand franks, the which he paid after. Then the cardinal
began to treat on the deliverance of the French king, but I pass it
briefly because nothing was done. Thus the prince, the Gascons and
Englishmen tarried still at Bordeaux till it was Lent in great mirth
and revel, and spent foolishly the gold and silver that they had won.
In England also there was great joy when they heard tidings of the
battle of Poitiers, of the discomfiting of the Frenchmen and taking of
the king: great solemnities were made in all churches and great fires
and wakes throughout all England. The knights and squires, such as
were come home from that journey, were much made of and praised more
than other.
WAT TYLER'S REBELLION
HOW THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND REBELLED AGAINST THE NOBLEMEN
In the mean season while this treaty was, there fell in England great
mischief and rebellion of moving of the common people, by which deed
England was at a point to have been lost without recovery. There was
never realm nor country in so great adventure as it was in that time,
and all because of the ease and riches that the common people were of,
which moved them to this rebellion, as sometime they did in France,
the which did much hurt, for by such incidents the realm of France
hath been greatly grieved.
It was a marvellous thing and of poor foundation that this mischief
began in England, and to give ensample to all manner of people I will
speak hereof as it was done, as I was informed, and of the incidents
thereof. There was an usage in England, and yet is in divers
countries, that the noblemen hath great franchise over the commons and
keepeth them in servage, that is to say, their tenants ought by custom
to labour the lords' lands, to gather and bring home their corns, and
some to thresh and to fan, and by servage to make their hay and to hew
their wood and bring it home. All these things they ought to do by
servage, and there be more of these people in England than in any
other realm. Thus the noblemen and prelates are served by them, and
especially in the county of Kent, Essex, Sussex and Bedford. These
unhappy people of these said countries began to stir, because they
said they were kept in great servage, and in the beginning of the
world, they said, there were no bondmen, wherefore they maintained
that none ought to be bond, without he did treason to his lord, as
Lucifer did to God; but they said they could have no such battle,[1]
for they were neither angels nor spirits, but men formed to the
similitude of their lords, saying why should they then be kept so
under like beasts; the which they said they would no longer suffer,
for they would be all one, and if they laboured or did anything for
their lords, they would have wages therefor as well as other. And of
this imagination was a foolish priest in the country of Kent called
John Ball, for the which foolish words he had been three times in the
bishop of Canterbury's prison: for this priest used oftentimes on the
Sundays after mass, when the people were going out of the minster, to
go into the cloister and preach, and made the people to assemble about
him, and would say thus: 'Ah, ye good people, the matters goeth not
well to pass in England, nor shall not do till everything be common,
and that there be no villains nor gentlemen, but that we may be all
united together, and that the lords be no greater masters than we be.
What have we deserved, or why should we be kept thus in servage? We be
all come from one father and one mother, Adam and Eve: whereby can
they say or shew that they be greater lords than we be, saving by that
they cause us to win and labour for that they dispend? They are
clothed in velvet and camlet furred with grise, and we be vestured
with poor cloth: they have their wines, spices and good bread, and we
have the drawing out of the chaff[2] and drink water; they dwell in
fair houses, and we have the pain and travail, rain and wind in the
fields; and by that that cometh of our labours they keep and maintain
their estates: we be called their bondmen, and without we do readily
them service, we be beaten; and we have no sovereign to whom we may
complain, nor that will hear us nor do us right. Let us go to the
king, he is young, and shew him what servage we be in, and shew him
how we will have it otherwise, or else we will provide us of some
remedy; and if we go together, all manner of people that be now in any
bondage will follow us to the intent to be made free; and when the
king seeth us, we shall have some remedy, either by fairness or
otherwise.' Thus John Ball said on Sundays, when the people issued out
of the churches in the villages; wherefore many of the mean people
loved him, and such as intended to no goodness said how he said truth;
and so they would murmur one with another in the fields and in the
ways as they went together, affirming how John Ball said truth.
[1] The true text is, 'Mais ils n'avoient pas cette taille,'
'but they were not of that nature.' The translator found the
corruption 'bataille' for 'taille.'
[2] Froissart says 'le seigle, le retrait et la paille,' 'the
rye, the bran and the straw.' The translator's French text had
'le seigle, le retraict de la paille.'
The archbishop of Canterbury, who was informed of the saying of this
John Ball, caused him to be taken and put in prison a two or three
months to chastise him: howbeit, it had been much better at the
beginning that he had been condemned to perpetual prison or else to
have died, rather than to have suffered him to have been again
delivered out of prison; but the bishop had conscience to let him die.
And when this John Ball was out of prison, he returned again to his
error, as he did before.
Of his words and deeds there were much people in London informed, such
as had great envy at them that were rich and such as were noble; and
then they began to speak among them and said how the realm of England
was right evil governed, and how that gold and silver was taken from
them by them that were named noblemen: so thus these unhappy men of
London began to rebel and assembled them together, and sent word to
the foresaid countries that they should come to London and bring their
people with them, promising them how they should find London open to
receive them and the commons of the city to be of the same accord,
saying how they would do so much to the king that there should not be
one bondman in all England.
This promise moved so them of Kent, of Essex, of Sussex, of Bedford
and of the countries about, that they rose and came towards London to
the number of sixty thousand. And they had a captain called Water
Tyler, and with him in company was Jack Straw and John Ball: these
three were chief sovereign captains, but the head of all was Water
Tyler, and he was indeed a tiler of houses, an ungracious patron. When
these unhappy men began thus to stir, they of London, except such as
were of their band, were greatly affrayed. Then the mayor of London
and the rich men of the city took counsel together, and when they saw
the people thus coming on every side, they caused the gates of the
city to be closed and would suffer no man to enter into the city. But
when they had well imagined, they advised not so to do, for they
thought they should thereby put their suburbs in great peril to be
brent; and so they opened again the city, and there entered in at the
gates in some place a hundred, two hundred, by twenty and by thirty,
and so when they came to London, they entered and lodged: and yet of
truth the third part[3] of these people could not tell what to ask or
demand, but followed each other like beasts, as the shepherds[4] did
of old time, saying how they would go conquer the Holy Land, and at
last all came to nothing. In like wise these villains and poor people
came to London, a hundred mile off, sixty mile, fifty mile, forty
mile, and twenty mile off, and from all countries about London, but
the most part came from the countries before named, and as they came
they demanded ever for the king. The gentlemen of the countries,
knights and squires, began to doubt, when they saw the people began to
rebel; and though they were in doubt, it was good reason; for a less
occasion they might have been affrayed. So the gentlemen drew together
as well as they might.
[3] 'Bien les trois pars.' i.e. 'three-fourths.'
[4] 'Les pastoureaulx.' The reference no doubt is to the
Pastoureaux of 1320, who were destroyed at Aigues-Mortes when
attempting to obtain a passage to the Holy Land.
The same day that these unhappy people of Kent were coming to London,
there returned from Canterbury the king's mother, princess of Wales,
coming from her pilgrimage. She was in great jeopardy to have been
lost, for these people came to her chare and dealt rudely with her,
whereof the good lady was in great doubt lest they would have done
some villany to her or to her damosels. Howbeit, God kept her, and she
came in one day from Canterbury to London, for she never durst tarry
by the way. The same time king Richard her son was at the Tower of
London: there his mother found him, and with him there was the earl of
Salisbury, the archbishop of Canterbury, sir Robert of Namur, the lord
of Gommegnies and divers other, who were in doubt of these people that
thus gathered together, and wist not what they demanded. This
rebellion was well known in the king's court, or any of these people
began to stir out of their houses; but the king nor his council did
provide no remedy therefor, which was great marvel. And to the intent
that all lords and good people and such as would nothing but good
should take ensample to correct them that be evil and rebellious, I
shall shew you plainly all the matter, as it was.
THE EVIL DEEDS THAT THESE COMMONS OF ENGLAND DID TO THE KING'S
OFFICERS, AND HOW THEY SENT A KNIGHT TO SPEAK WITH THE KING
The Monday before the feast of Corpus Christi the year of our Lord God
a thousand three hundred and eighty-one these people issued out of
their houses to come to London to speak with the king to be made free,
for they would have had no bondman in England. And so first they came
to Saint Thomas of Canterbury, and there John Ball had thought to have
found the bishop of Canterbury, but he was at London with the king.
When Wat Tyler and Jack Straw entered into Canterbury, all the common
people made great feast, for all the town was of their assent; and
there they took counsel to go to London to the king, and to send some
of their company over the river of Thames into Essex, into Sussex and
into the counties of Stafford and Bedford, to speak to the people that
they should all come to the farther side of London and thereby to
close London round about, so that the king should not stop their
passages, and that they should all meet together on Corpus Christi
day. They that were at Canterbury entered into Saint Thomas' church
and did there much hurt, and robbed and brake up the bishop's chamber,
and in robbing and bearing out their pillage they said: 'Ah, this
chancellor of England hath had a good market to get together all this
riches: he shall give us now account of the revenues of England and of
the great profits that he hath gathered sith the king's coronation.'
When they had this Monday thus broken the abbey of Saint Vincent, they
departed in the morning and all the people of Canterbury with them,
and so took the way to Rochester and sent their people to the villages
about. And in their going they beat down and robbed houses of
advocates and procurers of the king's court and of the archbishop, and
had mercy of none. And when they were come to Rochester, they had
there good cheer; for the people of that town tarried for them, for
they were of the same sect, and then they went to the castle there and
took the knight that had the rule thereof, he was called sir John
Newton, and they said to him: 'Sir, it behoveth you to go with us and
you shall be our sovereign captain and to do that we will have you,'
The knight excused himself honestly and shewed them divers
considerations and excuses, but all availed him nothing, for they said
unto him: 'Sir John, if ye do not as we will have you, ye are but
dead,' The knight, seeing these people in that fury and ready to slay
him, he then doubted death and agreed to them, and so they took him
with them against his inward will; and in like wise did they of other
counties in England, as Essex, Sussex, Stafford, Bedford and Warwick,
even to Lincoln; for they brought the knights and gentlemen into such
obeisance, that they caused them to go with them, whether they would
or not, as the lord Moylays, a great baron, sir Stephen of Hales and
sir Thomas of Cosington and other.
Now behold the great fortune. If they might have come to their
intents, they would have destroyed all the noblemen of England, and
thereafter all other nations would have followed the same and have
taken foot and ensample by them and by them of Gaunt and Flanders, who
rebelled against their lord. The same year the Parisians rebelled in
like wise and found out the mallets of iron, of whom there were more
than twenty thousand, as ye shall hear after in this history; but
first we will speak of them of England.
When these people thus lodged at Rochester departed, and passed the
river and came to Brentford, alway keeping still their opinions,
beating down before them and all about the places and houses of
advocates and procurers, and striking off the heads of divers persons.
And so long they went forward till they came within a four mile of
London, and there lodged on a hill called Blackheath; and as they
went, they said ever they were the king's men and the noble commons of
England:[1] and when they of London knew that they were come so near
to them, the mayor, as ye have heard before, closed the gates and kept
straitly all the passages. This order caused the mayor, who was called
Nicholas Walworth,[2] and divers other rich burgesses of the city, who
were not of their sect; but there were in London of their unhappy
opinions more than thirty thousand.
[1] 'That they were for the king and the noble commons (or
commonwealth) of England.'
[2] Froissart calls him John: his name was really William.
Then these people thus being lodged on Blackheath determined to send
their knight to speak with the king and to shew him how all that they
have done or will do is for him and his honour, and how the realm of
England hath not been well governed a great space for the honour of
the realm nor for the common profit by his uncles and by the clergy,
and specially by the archbishop of Canterbury his chancellor; whereof
they would have account. This knight durst do none otherwise, but so
came by the river of Thames to the Tower. The king and they that were
with him in the Tower, desiring to hear tidings, seeing this knight
coming made him way, and was brought before the king into a chamber;
and with the king was the princess his mother and his two brethren,
the earl of Kent and the lord John Holland, the earl of Salisbury, the
earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford, the archbishop of Canterbury, the
lord of Saint John's,[3] sir Robert of Namur, the lord of Vertaing,
the lord of Gommegnies, sir Henry of Senzeille, the mayor of London
and divers other notable burgesses. This knight sir John Newton, who
was well known among them, for he was one of the king's officers, he
kneeled down before the king and said: 'My right redoubted lord, let
it not displease your grace the message that I must needs shew you,
for, dear sir, it is by force and against my will.' 'Sir John,' said
the king, 'say what ye will: I hold you excused.' 'Sir, the commons of
this your realm hath sent me to you to desire you to come and speak
with them on Blackheath; for they desire to have none but you: and,
sir, ye need not to have any doubt of your person, for they will do
you no hurt; for they hold and will hold you for their king. But, sir,
they say they will shew you divers things, the which shall be right
necessary for you to take heed of, when they speak with you; of the
which things, sir, I have no charge to shew you: but, sir, it may
please you to give me an answer such as may appease them and that they
may know for truth that I have spoken with you; for they have my
children in hostage till I return again to them, and without I return
again, they will slay my children incontinent.'
[3] That is, the grand prior of the Hospital.
Then the king made him an answer and said: 'Sir, ye shall have an
answer shortly.' Then the king took counsel what was best for him to
do, and it was anon determined that the next morning the king should
go down the river by water and without fail to speak with them. And
when sir John Newton heard that answer, he desired nothing else and so
took his leave of the king and of the lords and returned again into
his vessel, and passed the Thames and went to Blackheath, where he had
left more than threescore thousand men. And there he answered them
that the next morning they should send some of their council to the
Thames, and there the king would come and speak with them.[4] This
answer greatly pleased them, and so passed that night as well as they
might, and the fourth part of them fasted for lack of victual for they
had none, wherewith they were sore displeased, which was good reason.
[4] 'Les quatre pars d'eux,' 'four-fifths of them.'
All this season the earl of Buckingham was in Wales, for there he had
fair heritages by reason of his wife, who was daughter to the earl of
Northumberland and Hereford; but the voice was all through London how
he was among these people. And some said certainly how they had seen
him there among them; and all was because there was one Thomas in
their company, a man of the county of Cambridge, that was very like
the earl. Also the lords that lay at Plymouth to go into Portugal were
well informed of this rebellion and of the people that thus began to
rise; wherefore they doubted lest their viage should have been broken,
or else they feared lest the commons about Hampton, Winchester and
Arundel would have come on them: wherefore they weighed up their
anchors and issued out of the haven with great pain, for the wind was
sore against them, and so took the sea and there cast anchor abiding
for the wind. And the duke of Lancaster, who was in the marches of
Scotland between Moorlane and Roxburgh entreating with the Scots,
where it was shewed him of the rebellion, whereof he was in doubt, for
he knew well he was but little beloved with the commons of England;
howbeit, for all those tidings, yet he did sagely demean himself as
touching the treaty with the Scots. The earl Douglas, the earl of
Moray, the earl of Sutherland and the earl Thomas Versy, and the Scots
that were there for the treaty knew right well the rebellion in
England, how the common people in every part began to rebel against
the noblemen; wherefore the Scots thought that England was in great
danger to be lost, and therefore in their treaties they were the more
stiffer against the duke of Lancaster and his council.
Now let us speak of the commons of England and how they persevered.
HOW THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND ENTERED INTO LONDON, AND OF THE GREAT EVIL
THAT THEY DID, AND OF THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF CANTERBURY AND DIVERS
OTHER
In the morning on Corpus Christi day king Richard heard mass in the
Tower of London, and all his lords, and then he took his barge with
the earl of Salisbury, the earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford and
certain knights, and so rowed down along the Thames to Rotherhithe,
whereas was descended down the hill a ten thousand men to see the king
and to speak with him. And when they saw the king's barge coming, they
began to shout, and made such a cry, as though all the devils of hell
had been among them. And they had brought with them sir John Newton to
the intent that, if the king had not come, they would have stricken
him all to pieces, and so they had promised him. And when the king and
his lords saw the demeanour of the people, the best assured of them
were in dread; and so the king was counselled by his barons not to
take any landing there, but so rowed up and down the river. And the
king demanded of them what they would, and said how he was come
thither to speak with them, and they said all with one voice: 'We
would that ye should come aland, and then we shall shew you what we
lack.' Then the earl of Salisbury answered for the king and said:
'Sirs, ye be not in such order nor array that the king ought to speak
with you.' And so with those words no more said: and then the king was
counselled to return again to the Tower of London, and so he did.
And when these people saw that, they were inflamed with ire and
returned to the hill where the great band was, and there shewed them
what answer they had and how the king was returned to the Tower of
London. Then they cried all with one voice, 'Let us go to London,' and
so they took their way thither; and in their going they beat down
abbeys and houses of advocates and of men of the court, and so came
into the suburbs of London, which were great and fair, and there beat
down divers fair houses, and specially they brake up the king's
prisons, as the Marshalsea and other, and delivered out all the
prisoners that were within: and there they did much hurt, and at the
bridge foot they threat them of London because the gates of the bridge
were closed, saying how they would bren all the suburbs and so conquer
London by force, and to slay and bren all the commons of the city.
There were many within the city of their accord, and so they drew
together and said: 'Why do we not let these good people enter into the
city? they are your fellows, and that that they do is for us,' So
therewith the gates were opened, and then these people entered into
the city and went into houses and sat down to eat and drink. They
desired nothing but it was incontinent brought to them, for every man
was ready to make them good cheer and to give them meat and drink to
appease them.
Then the captains, as John Ball, Jack Straw and Wat Tyler, went
throughout London and a twenty thousand with them, and so came to the
Savoy in the way to Westminster, which was a goodly house and it
pertained to the duke of Lancaster. And when they entered, they slew
the keepers thereof and robbed and pilled the house, and when they had
so done, then they set fire on it and clean destroyed and brent it.
And when they had done that outrage, they left not therewith, but went
straight to the fair hospital of the Rhodes called Saint John's,[1]
and there they brent house, hospital, minster and all. Then they went
from street to street and slew all the Flemings that they could find
in church or in any other place, there was none respited from death.
And they brake up divers houses of the Lombards and robbed them and
took their goods at their pleasure, for there was none that durst say
them nay. And they slew in the city a rich merchant called Richard
Lyon, to whom before that time Wat Tyler had done service in France;
and on a time this Richard Lyon had beaten him, while he was his
varlet, the which Wat Tyler then remembered and so came to his house
and strake off his head and caused it to be borne on a spear-point
before him all about the city. Thus these ungracious people demeaned
themselves like people enraged and wood, and so that day they did much
sorrow in London.
[1] This is called afterwards 'l'Ospital de Saint Jehan du
Temple,' and therefore would probably be the Temple, to which
the Hospitallers had suceeded. They had, however, another house
at Clerkenwell, which also had been once the property of the
Templars.
And so against night they went to lodge at Saint Katherine's before
the Tower of London, saying how they would never depart thence till
they had the king at their pleasure and till he had accorded to them
all (they would ask, and) that they would ask accounts of the
chancellor of England, to know where all the good was become that he
had levied through the realm, and without he made a good account to
them thereof, it should not be for his profit. And so when they had
done all these evils to the strangers all the day, at night they
lodged before the Tower.
Ye may well know and believe that it was great pity for the danger
that the king and such as were with him were in. For some time these
unhappy people shouted and cried so loud, as though all the devils of
hell had been among them. In this evening the king was counselled by
his brethren and lords and by sir Nicholas Walworth, mayor of London,
and divers other notable and rich burgesses, that in the night time
they should issue out of the Tower and enter into the city, and so to
slay all these unhappy people, while they were at their rest and
asleep; for it was thought that many of them were drunken, whereby
they should be slain like flies; also of twenty of them there was
scant one in harness. And surely the good men of London might well
have done this at their ease, for they had in their houses secretly
their friends and servants ready in harness, and also sir Robert
Knolles was in his lodging keeping his treasure with a sixscore ready
at his commandment; in like wise was sir Perducas d'Albret, who was as
then in London, insomuch that there might well (have) assembled
together an eight thousand men ready in harness. Howbeit, there was
nothing done, for the residue of the commons of the city were sore
doubted, lest they should rise also, and the commons before were a
threescore thousand or more. Then the earl of Salisbury and the wise
men about the king said: 'Sir, if ye can appease them with fairness,
it were best and most profitable, and to grant them everything that
they desire, for if we should begin a thing the which we could not
achieve, we should never recover it again, but we and our heirs ever
to be disinherited,' So this counsel was taken and the mayor
countermanded, and so commanded that he should not stir; and he did as
he was commanded, as reason was. And in the city with the mayor there
were twelve aldermen, whereof nine of them held with the king and the
other three took part with these ungracious people, as it was after
well known, the which they full dearly bought.
And on the Friday in the morning the people, being at Saint
Katharine's near to the Tower, began to apparel themselves and to cry
and shout, and said, without the king would come out and speak with
them, they would assail the Tower and take it by force, and slay all
them that were within. Then the king doubted these words and so was
counselled that he should issue out to speak with them: and then the
king sent to them that they should all draw to a fair plain place
called Mile-end, whereas the people of the city did sport them in the
summer season, and there the king to grant them that they desired; and
there it was cried in the king's name, that whosoever would speak with
the king let him go to the said place, and there he should not fail to
find the king. Then the people began to depart, specially the commons
of the villages, and went to the same place: but all went not thither,
for they were not all of one condition; for there were some that
desired nothing but riches and the utter destruction of the noblemen
and to have London robbed and pilled; that was the principal matter of
their beginning, the which they well shewed, for as soon as the Tower
gate opened and that the king was issued out with his two brethren and
the earl of Salisbury, the earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford, sir
Robert of Namur, the lord of Vertaing, the lord Gommegnies and divers
other, then Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John Ball and more than four
hundred entered into the Tower and brake up chamber after chamber, and
at last found the archbishop of Canterbury, called Simon, a valiant
man and a wise, and chief chancellor of England, and a little before
he had said mass before the king. These gluttons took him and strake
off his head, and also they beheaded the lord of Saint John's and a
friar minor, master in medicine, pertaining to the duke of Lancaster,
they slew him in despite of his master, and a sergeant at arms called
John Leg; and these four heads were set on four long spears and they
made them to be borne before them through the streets of London and at
last set them a-high on London bridge, as though they had been
traitors to the king and to the realm. Also these gluttons entered
into the princess' chamber and brake her bed, whereby she was so sore
affrayed that she swooned; and there she was taken up and borne to the
water side and put into a barge and covered, and so conveyed to a
place called the Queen's Wardrobe;[2] and there she was all that day
and night like a woman half dead, till she was comforted with the king
her son, as ye shall hear after.
[2] The Queen's Wardrobe was in the 'Royal' (called by Froissart
or his copyist 'la Réole'), a palace near Blackfriars.
HOW THE NOBLES OF ENGLAND WERE IN GREAT PERIL TO HAVE BEEN DESTROYED,
AND HOW THESE REBELS WERE PUNISHED AND SENT HOME TO THEIR OWN HOUSES
When the king came to the said place of Mile-end without London, he
put out of his company his two brethren, the earl of Kent and sir John
Holland, and the lord of Gommegnies, for they durst not appear before
the people: and when the king and his other lords were there, he found
there a threescore thousand men of divers villages and of sundry
countries in England; so the king entered in among them and said to
them sweetly: 'Ah, ye good people, I am your king: what lack ye? what
will ye say?' Then such as understood him said: 'We will that ye make
us free for ever, ourselves, our heirs and our lands, and that we be
called no more bond nor so reputed.' 'Sirs,' said the king, 'I am well
agreed thereto. Withdraw you home into your own houses and into such
villages as ye came from, and leave behind you of every village two or
three, and I shall cause writings to be made and seal them with my
seal, the which they shall have with them, containing everything that
ye demand; and to the intent that ye shall be the better assured, I
shall cause my banners to be delivered into every bailiwick, shire and
countries.'
These words appeased well the common people, such as were simple and
good plain men, that were come thither and wist not why. They said,
'It was well said, we desire no better.' Thus these people began to be
appeased and began to withdraw them into the city of London. And the
king also said a word, the which greatly contented them. He said:
'Sirs, among you good men of Kent ye shall have one of my banners with
you, and ye of Essex another, and ye of Sussex, of Bedford, of
Cambridge, of Yarmouth, of Stafford and of Lynn, each of you one; and
also I pardon everything that ye have done hitherto, so that ye follow
my banners and return home to your houses.' They all answered how they
would so do: thus these people departed and went into London. Then the
king ordained more than thirty clerks the same Friday, to write with
all diligence letter patents and sealed with the king's seal, and
delivered them to these people; and when they had received the
writing, they departed and returned into their own countries: but the
great venom remained still behind, for Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John
Ball said, for all that these people were thus appeased, yet they
would not depart so, and they had of their accord more than thirty
thousand. So they abode still and made no press to have the king's
writing nor seal, for all their intents was to put the city to trouble
in such wise as to slay all the rich and honest persons and to rob and
pill their houses. They of London were in great fear of this,
wherefore they kept their houses privily with their friends and such
servants as they had, every man according to his puissance. And when
these said people were this Friday thus somewhat appeased, and that
they should depart as soon as they had their writings, every man home
into his own country, then king Richard came into the Royal, where the
queen his mother was, right sore affrayed: so he comforted her as well
as he could and tarried there with her all that night.
Yet I shall shew you of an adventure that fell by these ungracious
people before the city of Norwich, by a captain among them called
Guilliam Lister of Stafford. The same day of Corpus Christi that these
people entered into London and brent the duke of Lancaster's house,
called the Savoy; and the hospital of Saint John's and brake up the
king's prisons and did all this hurt, as ye have heard before, the
same time there assembled together they of Stafford, of Lynn, of
Cambridge, of Bedford and of Yarmouth; and as they were coming towards
London, they had a captain among them called Lister. And as they came,
they rested them before Norwich, and in their coming they caused every
man to rise with them, so that they left no villains behind them. The
cause why they rested before Norwich I shall shew you. There was a
knight, captain of the town, called sir Robert Sale. He was no
gentleman born, but he had the grace to be reputed sage and valiant in
arms, and for his valiantness king Edward made him knight. He was of
his body one of the biggest knights in all England. Lister and his
company thought to have had this knight with them and to make him
their chief captain, to the intent to be the more feared and beloved:
so they sent to him that he should come and speak with them in the
field, or else they would bren the town. The knight considered that it
was better for him to go and speak with them rather than they should
do that outrage to the town: then he mounted on his horse and issued
out of the town all alone, and so came to speak with them. And when
they saw him, they made him great cheer and honoured him much,
desiring him to alight off his horse and to speak with them, and so he
did: wherein he did great folly; for when he was alighted, they came
round about him and began to speak fair to him and said: 'Sir Robert,
ye are a knight and a man greatly beloved in this country and renowned
a valiant man; and though ye be thus, yet we know you well, ye be no
gentleman born, but son to a villain such as we be. Therefore come you
with us and be our master, and we shall make you so great a lord, that
one quarter of England shall be under your obeisance,' When the knight
heard them speak thus, it was greatly contrarious to his mind, for he
thought never to make any such bargain, and answered them with a
felonous regard: 'Fly away, ye ungracious people, false and evil
traitors that ye be: would you that I should forsake my natural lord
for such a company of knaves as ye be, to my dishonour for ever? I had
rather ye were all hanged, as ye shall be; for that shall be your
end.' And with those words he had thought to have leapt again upon his
horse, but he failed of the stirrup and the horse started away. Then
they cried all at him and said: 'Slay him without mercy.' When he
heard those words, he let his horse go and drew out a good sword and
began to scrimmish with them, and made a great place about him, that
it was pleasure to behold him. There was none that durst approach near
him: there were some that approached near him, but at every stroke
that he gave he cut off other leg, head or arm: there was none so
hardy but that they feared him: he did there such deeds of arms that
it was marvel to regard. But there were more than forty thousand of
these unhappy people: they shot and cast at him, and he was unarmed:
to say truth, if he had been of iron or steel, yet he must needs have
been slain; but yet, or he died, he slew twelve out of hand, beside
them that he hurt. Finally he was stricken to the earth, and they cut
off his arms and legs and then strake his body all to pieces. This was
the end of sir Robert Sale, which was great damage; for which deed
afterward all the knights and squires of England were angry and sore
displeased when they heard thereof.
Now let us return to the king. The Saturday the king departed from the
Wardrobe in the Royal and went to Westminster and heard mass in the
church there, and all his lords with him. And beside the church there
was a little chapel with an image of our Lady, which did great
miracles and in whom the kings of England had ever great trust and
confidence. The king made his orisons before this image and did there
his offering; and then he leapt on his horse, and all his lords, and
so the king rode toward London; and when he had ridden a little way,
on the left hand there was a way to pass without London.[1]
[1] Or rather, 'he found a place on the left hand to pass
without London.'
The same proper morning Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John Ball had
assembled their company to common together in a place called
Smithfield, whereas every Friday there is a market of horses; and
there were together all of affinity more than twenty thousand, and yet
there were many still in the town, drinking and making merry in the
taverns and paid nothing, for they were happy that made them best
cheer. And these people in Smithfield had with them the king's
banners, the which were delivered them the day before, and all these
gluttons were in mind to overrun and to rob London the same day; for
their captains said how they had done nothing as yet. 'These liberties
that the king hath given us is to us but a small profit: therefore let
us be all of one accord and let us overrun this rich and puissant
city, or they of Essex, of Sussex, of Cambridge, of Bedford, of
Arundel, of Warwick, of Reading, of Oxford, of Guildford, of Lynn, of
Stafford, of Yarmouth, of Lincoln, of York and of Durham do come
hither. For all these will come hither; Baker and Lister will bring
them hither; and if we be first lords of London and have the
possession of the riches that is therein, we shall not repent us; for
if we leave it, they that come after will have it from us.'
To this counsel they all agreed; and therewith the king came the same
way unware of them, for he had thought to have passed that way without
London, and with him a forty horse. And when he came before the abbey
of Saint Bartholomew and beheld all these people, then the king rested
and said how he would go no farther till he knew what these people
ailed, saying, if they were in any trouble, how he would rappease them
again. The lords that were with him tarried also, as reason was when
they saw the king tarry. And when Wat Tyler saw the king tarry, he
said to his people: 'Sirs, yonder is the king: I will go and speak
with him. Stir not from hence, without I make you a sign; and when I
make you that sign, come on and slay all them except the king; but do
the king no hurt, he is young, we shall do with him as we list and
shall lead him with us all about England, and so shall we be lords of
all the realm without doubt.' And there was a doublet-maker of London
called John Tycle, and he had brought to these gluttons a sixty
doublets, the which they ware: then he demanded of these captains who
should pay him for his doublets; he demanded thirty mark. Wat Tyler
answered him and said: 'Friend, appease yourself, thou shalt be well
paid or this day be ended. Keep thee near me; I shall be thy
creditor.' And therewith he spurred his horse and departed from his
company and came to the king, so near him that his horse head touched
the croup of the king's horse, and the first word that he said was
this: 'Sir king, seest thou all yonder people?' 'Yea truly,' said the
king, 'wherefore sayest thou?' 'Because,' said he, 'they be all at my
commandment and have sworn to me faith and truth, to do all that I
will have them' 'In a good time,' said the king, 'I will well it be
so.' Then Wat Tyler said, as he that nothing demanded but riot: 'What
believest thou, king, that these people and as many more as be in
London at my commandment, that they will depart from thee thus without
having thy letters?' 'No,' said the king, 'ye shall have them: they
be ordained for you and shall be delivered every one each after other.
Wherefore, good fellows, withdraw fair and easily to your people and
cause them to depart out of London; for it is our intent that each of
you by villages and townships shall have letters patents, as I have
promised you.'
With those words Wat Tyler cast his eyen on a squire that was there
with the king bearing the king's sword, and Wat Tyler hated greatly
the same squire, for the same squire had displeased him before for
words between them. 'What,' said Tyler, 'art thou there? Give me thy
dagger.' 'Nay,' said the squire, 'that will I not do: wherefore should
I give it thee?' The king beheld the squire and said: 'Give it him;
let him have it.' And so the squire took it him sore against his will.
And when this Wat Tyler had it, he began to play therewith and turned
it in his hand, and said again to the squire: 'Give me also that
sword.' 'Nay,' said the squire, 'it is the king's sword: thou art not
worthy to have it, for thou art but a knave; and if there were no more
here but thou and I, thou durst not speak those words for as much gold
in quantity as all yonder abbey.'[2] 'By my faith,' said Wat Tyler, 'I
shall never eat meat till I have thy head': and with those words the
mayor of London came to the king with a twelve horses well armed under
their coats, and so he brake the press and saw and heard how Wat Tyler
demeaned himself, and said to him: 'Ha, thou knave, how art thou so
hardy in the king's presence to speak such words? It is too much for
thee so to do.' Then the king began to chafe and said to the mayor:
'Set hands on him.' And while the king said so, Tyler said to the
mayor: 'A God's name what have I said to displease thee?' 'Yes truly,'
quoth the mayor, 'thou false stinking knave, shalt thou speak thus in
the presence of the king my natural lord? I commit never to live,
without thou shalt dearly abye it.'[3] And with those words the mayor
drew out his sword and strake Tyler so great a stroke on the head,
that he fell down at the feet of his horse, and as soon as he was
fallen, they environed him all about, whereby he was not seen of his
company. Then a squire of the king's alighted, called John Standish,
and he drew out his sword and put it into Wat Tyler's belly, and so he
died.
[2] The full text has, 'for as much gold as that minster of
Saint Paul is great.'
[3] 'Jamais je veux vivre, si tu ne le compares.'
Then the ungracious people there assembled, perceiving their captain
slain, began to murmur among themselves and said: 'Ah, our captain is
slain, let us go and slay them all': and therewith they arranged
themselves on the place in manner of battle, and their bows before
them. Thus the king began a great outrage;[4] howbeit, all turned to
the best: for as soon as Tyler was on the earth, the king departed
from all his company and all alone he rode to these people, and said
to his own men: 'Sirs, none of you follow me; let me alone.' And so
when he came before these ungracious people, who put themselves in
ordinance to revenge their captain, then the king said to them: 'Sirs,
what aileth you? Ye shall have no captain but me: I am your king: be
all in rest and peace.' And so the most part of the people that heard
the king speak and saw him among them, were shamefast and began to wax
peaceable and to depart; but some, such as were malicious and evil,
would not depart, but made semblant as though they would do somewhat.
[4] 'Outrage' here means 'act of boldness,' as elsewhere, e.g.
'si fist une grant apertise d'armes et un grant outrage.'
Then the king returned to his own company and demanded of them what
was best to be done. Then he was counselled to draw into the field,
for to fly away was no boot. Then said the mayor: 'It is good that we
do so, for I think surely we shall have shortly some comfort of them
of London and of such good men as be of our part, who are purveyed and
have their friends and men ready armed in their houses.' And in the
mean time voice and bruit ran through London how these unhappy people
were likely to slay the king and the mayor in Smithfield; through the
which noise all manner of good men of the king's party issued out of
their houses and lodgings well armed, and so came all to Smithfield
and to the field where the king was, and they were anon to the number
of seven or eight thousand men well armed. And first thither came sir
Robert Knolles and sir Perducas d'Albret, well accompanied, and divers
of the aldermen of London, and with them a six hundred men in harness,
and a puissant man of the city, who was the king's draper,[5] called
Nicholas Bramber, and he brought with him a great company; and ever as
they came, they ranged them afoot in order of battle: and on the other
part these unhappy people were ready ranged, making semblance to give
battle, and they had with them divers of the king's banners. There the
king made three knights, the one the mayor of London sir Nicholas
Walworth, sir John Standish and sir Nicholas Bramber. Then the lords
said among themselves: 'What shall we do? We see here our enemies, who
would gladly slay us, if they might have the better hand of us.' Sir
Robert Knolles counselled to go and fight with them and slay them all;
yet the king would not consent thereto, but said: 'Nay, I will not so:
I will send to them commanding them to send me again my banners and
thereby we shall see what they will do. Howbeit, other by fairness or
otherwise, I will have them.' 'That is well said, sir,' quoth the earl
of Salisbury. Then these new knights were sent to them, and these
knights made token to them not to shoot at them, and when they came so
near them that their speech might be heard, they said: 'Sirs, the king
commandeth you to send to him again his banners, and we think he will
have mercy of you.' And incontinent they delivered again the banners
and sent them to the king. Also they were commanded on pain of their
heads, that all such as had letters of the king to bring them forth
and to send them again to the king; and so many of them delivered
their letters, but not all. Then the king made them to be all to torn
in their presence; and as soon as the king's banners were delivered
again, these unhappy people kept none array, but the most part of them
did cast down their bows, and so brake their array and returned into
London. Sir Robert Knolles was sore displeased in that he might not go
to slay them all: but the king would not consent thereto, but said he
would be revenged of them well enough; and so he was after.
[5] 'Qui estoit des draps du roy.' He owned large estates in
Essex and also shops in London. He became one of the councillors
of Richard II.
Thus these foolish people departed, some one way and some another; and
the king and his lords and all his company right ordinately entered
into London with great joy. And the first journey that the king made
he went to the lady princess his mother, who was in a castle in the
Royal called the Queen's Wardrobe, and there she had tarried two days
and two nights right sore abashed, as she had good reason; and when
she saw the king her son, she was greatly rejoiced and said: 'Ah, fair
son, what pain and great sorrow that I have suffered for you this
day!' Then the king answered and said: 'Certainly, madam, I know it
well; but now rejoice yourself and thank God, for now it is time. I
have this day recovered mine heritage and the realm of England, the
which I had near lost.' Thus the king tarried that day with his
mother, and every lord went peaceably to their own lodgings. Then
there was a cry made in every street in the king's name, that all
manner of men, not being of the city of London and have not dwelt
there the space of one year, to depart; and if any such be found there
the Sunday by the sun-rising, that they should be taken as traitors to
the king and to lose their heads. This cry thus made, there was none
that durst brake it, and so all manner of people departed and sparkled
abroad every man to their own places. John Ball and Jack Straw were
found in an old house hidden, thinking to have stolen away, but they
could not, for they were accused by their own men. Of the taking of
them the king and his lords were glad, and then strake off their heads
and Wat Tyler's also, and they were set on London bridge, and the
valiant men's heads taken down that they had set on the Thursday
before. These tidings anon spread abroad, so that the people of the
strange countries, which were coming towards London, returned back
again to their own houses and durst come no farther.
THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN
HOW THE EARL DOUGLAS WON THE PENNON OF SIR HENRY PERCY AT THE BARRIERS
BEFORE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, AND HOW THE SCOTS BRENT THE CASTLE OF
PONTLAND, AND HOW SIR HENRY PERCY AND SIR RALPH HIS BROTHER TOOK
ADVICE TO FOLLOW THE SCOTS TO CONQUER AGAIN THE PENNON THAT WAS LOST
AT THE SCRIMMISH
When the English lords saw that their squire returned not again at the
time appointed, and could know nothing what the Scots did, nor what
they were purposed to do, then they thought well that their squire was
taken. The lords sent each to other, to be ready whensoever they
should hear that the Scots were abroad: as for their messenger, they
thought him but lost.
Now let us speak of the earl Douglas and other, for they had more to
do than they that went by Carlisle. When the earls of Douglas, of
Moray, of March, and Dunbar[1] departed from the great host, they took
their way thinking to pass the water and to enter into the bishopric
of Durham, and to ride to the town and then to return, brenning and
exiling the country and so to come to Newcastle and to lodge there in
the town in the despite of all the Englishmen. And as they determined,
so they did assay to put it in use, for they rode a great pace under
covert without doing of any pillage by the way or assaulting of any
castle, tower or house, but so came into the lord Percy's land and
passed the river of Tyne without any let a three leagues above
Newcastle not far from Brancepeth, and at last entered into the
bishopric of Durham, where they found a good country. Then they began
to make war, to slay people and to bren villages and to do many sore
displeasures.
[1] George, earl of March and Dunbar: the text gives Mare, but
there was at this time no earl of Mar.
As at that time the earl of Northumberland and the other lords and
knights of that country knew nothing of their coming. When tidings
came to Newcastle and to Durham that the Scots were abroad, and that
they might well see by the fires and smoke abroad in the country, the
earl sent to Newcastle his two sons and sent commandment to every man
to draw to Newcastle, saying to his sons: 'Ye shall go to Newcastle
and all the country shall assemble there, and I shall tarry at
Alnwick, which is a passage that they must pass by. If we may enclose
them, we shall speed well.' Sir Henry Percy and sir Ralph his brother
obeyed their father's commandment and came thither with them of the
country. The Scots rode burning and exiling the country, that the
smoke thereof came to Newcastle. The Scots came to the gates of Durham
and scrimmished there; but they tarried not long but returned, as they
had ordained before to do, and that they found by the way took and
destroyed it. Between Durham and Newcastle is but twelve leagues
English and a good country: there was no town, without it were closed,
but it was brent, and they repassed the river of Tyne where they had
passed before, and then came before Newcastle and there rested. All
the English knights and squires of the country of York and bishopric
of Durham were assembled at Newcastle, and thither came the seneschal
of York, sir Ralph Lumley, sir Matthew Redman, captain of Berwick, sir
Robert Ogle, sir Thomas Grey, sir Thomas Holton, sir John Felton, sir
John Lilleburn, sir Thomas Abingdon, the baron of Hilton, sir John
Coppledike and divers other, so that the town was so full of people
that they wist not where to lodge.
When these three Scottish earls who were chief captains had made their
enterprise in the bishopric of Durham and had sore overrun the
country, then they returned to Newcastle and there rested and tarried
two days, and every day they scrimmished. The earl of Northumberland's
two sons were two young lusty knights and were ever foremost at the
barriers to scrimmish. There were many proper feats of arms done and
achieved: there was fighting hand to hand: among other there fought
hand to hand the earl Douglas and sir Henry Percy, and by force of
arms the earl Douglas won the pennon of sir Henry Percy's, wherewith
he was sore displeased and so were all the Englishmen. And the earl
Douglas said to sir Henry Percy: 'Sir, I shall bear this token of your
prowess into Scotland and shall set it on high on my castle of
Dalkeith, that it may be seen far off,' 'Sir,' quoth sir Henry, 'ye
may be sure ye shall not pass the bounds of this country till ye be
met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunt thereof,'
'Well, sir,' quoth the earl Douglas, 'come this night to my lodging
and seek for your pennon: I shall set it before my lodging and see if
ye will come to take it away.' So then it was late, and the Scots
withdrew to their lodgings and refreshed them with such as they had.
They had flesh enough: they made that night good watch, for they
thought surely to be awaked for the words they had spoken, but they
were not, for sir Henry Percy was counselled not so to do.
The next day the Scots dislodged and returned towards their own
country, and so came to a castle and a town called Pontland, whereof
sir Edmund of Alphel was lord, who was a right good knight. There the
Scots rested, for they came thither betimes, and understood that the
knight was in his castle. Then they ordained to assail the castle, and
gave a great assault, so that by force of arms they won it and the
knight within it. Then the town and castle was brent; and from thence
the Scots went to the town and castle of Otterburn, an eight English
mile from Newcastle[2] and there lodged. That day they made none
assault, but the next morning they blew their horns and made ready to
assail the castle, which was strong, for it stood in the marish. That
day they assaulted till they were weary, and did nothing. Then they
sowned the retreat and returned to their lodgings. Then the lords drew
to council to determine what they should do. The most part were of the
accord that the next day they should dislodge without giving of any
assault and to draw fair and easily towards Carlisle. But the earl
Douglas brake that counsel and said: 'In despite of sir Henry Percy,
who said he would come and win again his pennon, let us not depart
hence for two or three days. Let us assail this castle: it is
pregnable: we shall have double honour. And then let us see if he will
come and fetch his pennon: he shall be well defended.'[3] Every man
accorded to his saying, what for their honour and for the love of him.
Also they lodged there at their ease, for there was none that troubled
them: they made many lodgings of boughs and great herbs and fortified
their camp sagely with the marish that was thereby, and their
carriages were set at the entry into the marishes and had all their
beasts within the marish. Then they apparelled for to assault the next
day: this was their intention.
[2] Froissart says 'eight English leagues.' In the next chapter
the distance becomes 'seven little leagues,' and later on, 'a
six English miles,' where the original is 'lieues.' The actual
distance is about thirty miles. The translator gives the form
'Combur' here, but 'Ottenburge' in the next chapter, as the
name of the place. It is remarkable indeed how little trouble
he seems to have taken generally to give English names correctly.
In this chapter we have 'Nymyche' for 'Alnwick' and 'Pouclan'
for 'Pontland,' forms rather less like the real names than those
which he found in the French text, viz. Nynich and Ponclau.
[3] Froissart says, 'if he comes, it shall be defended.' The
translator perhaps means 'he shall be prevented.'
Now let us speak of sir Henry Percy and of sir Ralph his brother and
shew somewhat what they did. They were sore displeased that the earl
Douglas had won the pennon of their arms: also it touched greatly
their honours, if they did not as sir Henry Percy said he would; for
he had said to the earl Douglas that he should not carry his pennon
out of England, and also he had openly spoken it before all the
knights and squires that were at Newcastle. The Englishmen there
thought surely that the earl Douglas' band was but the Scots' vanguard
and that their host was left behind. The knights of the country, such
as were well expert in arms, spake against sir Henry Percy's opinion
and said to him: 'Sir, there fortuneth in war oftentimes many losses.
If the earl Douglas have won your pennon, he bought it dear, for he
came to the gate to seek it and was well beaten:[4] another day ye
shall win as much of him or more. Sir, we say this because we know
well all the power of Scotland is abroad in the fields, and if we
issue out and be not men enow to fight with them, and peradventure
they have made this scrimmish with us to the intent to draw us out of
the town, and the number that they be of, as it is said, above forty
thousand men, they may soon enclose us and do with us what they will.
Yet it were better to lose a pennon than two or three hundred knights
and squires and put all our country in adventure,' These words
refrained sir Henry and his brother, for they would do nothing against
counsel. Then tidings came to them by such as had seen the Scots and
seen all their demeanour and what way they took and where they rested.
[4] i.e. 'well fought with.'
HOW SIR HENRY PERCY AND HIS BROTHER WITH A GOOD NUMBER OF MEN OF ARMS
AND ARCHERS WENT AFTER THE SCOTS, TO WIN AGAIN HIS PENNON THAT THE
EARL DOUGLAS HAD WON BEFORE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, AND HOW THEY ASSAILED
THE SCOTS BEFORE OTTERBURN IN THEIR LODGINGS
It was shewed to sir Henry Percy and to his brother and to the other
knights and squires that were there, by such as had followed the Scots
from Newcastle and had well advised their doing, who said to sir Henry
and to sir Ralph: 'Sirs, we have followed the Scots privily and have
discovered all the country. The Scots be at Pontland and have taken
sir Edmund Alphel in his own castle, and from thence they be gone to
Otterburn and there they lay this night. What they will do to-morrow
we know not: they are ordained to abide there: and, sirs, surely their
great host is not with them, for in all they pass not there a three
thousand men,' When sir Henry heard that, he was joyful and said:
'Sirs, let us leap on our horses, for by the faith I owe to God and to
my lord my father I will go seek for my pennon and dislodge them this
same night.' Knights and squires that heard him agreed thereto and
were joyous, and every man made him ready.
The same evening the bishop of Durham came thither with a good
company, for he heard at Durham how the Scots were before Newcastle
and how that the lord Percy's sons with other lords and knights should
fight with the Scots: therefore the bishop of Durham to come to the
rescue had assembled up all the country and so was coming to
Newcastle. But sir Henry Percy would not abide his coming, for he had
with him six hundred spears, knights and squires, and an eight
thousand footmen. They thought that sufficient number to fight with
the Scots, if they were not but three hundred spears and three
thousand of other. Thus they departed from Newcastle after dinner and
set forth in good order, and took the same way as the Scots had gone
and rode to Otterburn, a seven little leagues from thence and fair
way, but they could not ride fast because of their foot-men. And when
the Scots had supped and some laid down to their rest, and were weary
of travailing and assaulting of the castle all that day, and thought
to rise early in the morning in cool of the day to give a new assault,
therewith suddenly the Englishmen came on them and entered into the
lodgings, weening it had been the masters' lodgings, and therein were
but varlets and servants. Then the Englishmen cried, 'Percy, Percy!'
and entered into the lodgings, and ye know well where such affray is
noise is soon raised: and it fortuned well for the Scots, for when
they saw the Englishmen came to wake them, then the lord sent a
certain of their servants of foot-men to scrimmish with the Englishmen
at the entry of the lodgings, and in the mean time they armed and
apparelled them, every man under his banner and under his captain's
pennon. The night was far on, but the moon shone so bright as an it
had been in a manner day. It was in the month of August and the
weather fair and temperate.
Thus the Scots were drawn together and without any noise departed from
their lodgings and went about a little mountain, which was greatly for
their advantage. For all the day before they had well advised the
place and said among themselves: 'If the Englishmen come on us
suddenly, then we will do thus and thus, for it is a jeopardous thing
in the night if men of war enter into our lodgings. If they do, then
we will draw to such a place, and thereby other we shall win or lose.'
When the Englishmen entered into the field, at the first they soon
overcame the varlets, and as they entered further in, always they
found new men to busy them and to scrimmish with them. Then suddenly
came the Scots from about the mountain and set on the Englishmen or
they were ware, and cried their cries; whereof the Englishmen were
sore astonied. Then they cried 'Percy!' and the other party cried
'Douglas!'
There began a cruel battle and at the first encounter many were
overthrown of both parties; and because the Englishmen were a great
number and greatly desired to vanquish their enemies, and rested at
their pace[1] and greatly did put aback the Scots, so that the Scots
were near discomfited. Then the earl James Douglas, who was young and
strong and of great desire to get praise and grace, and was willing to
deserve to have it, and cared for no pain nor travail, came forth with
his banner and cried, 'Douglas, Douglas!' and sir Henry Percy and sir
Ralph his brother, who had great indignation against the earl Douglas
because he had won the pennon of their arms at the barriers before
Newcastle, came to that part and cried, 'Percy!' Their two banners met
and their men: there was a sore fight: the Englishmen were so strong
and fought so valiantly that they reculed the Scots back. There were
two valiant knights of Scots under the banner of the earl Douglas,
called sir Patrick of Hepbourn and sir Patrick his son. They acquitted
themselves that day valiantly: the earl's banner had been won, an they
had not been: they defended it so valiantly and in the rescuing
thereof did such feats of arms, that it was greatly to their
recommendation and to their heirs' for ever after.
[1] In French, 'ilz se arresterent,' without 'and.'
It was shewed me by such as had been at the same battle, as well by
knights and squires of England as of Scotland, at the house of the
earl of Foix,--for anon after this battle was done I met at Orthez two
squires of England called John of Chateauneuf and John of Cantiron;
also when I returned to Avignon I found also there a knight and a
squire of Scotland; I knew them and they knew me by such tokens as I
shewed them of their country, for I, author of this book, in my youth
had ridden nigh over all the realm of Scotland, and I was as then a
fifteen days in the house of earl William Douglas, father to the same
earl James, of whom I spake of now, in a castle of five leagues from
Edinburgh in the country of Dalkeith;[2] the same time I saw there
this earl James, a fair young child, and a sister of his called the
lady Blanche,--and I was informed by both these parties[3] how this
battle was as sore a battle fought as lightly hath been heard of
before of such a number; and I believe it well, for Englishmen on the
one party and Scots on the other party are good men of war, for when
they meet there is a hard fight without sparing, there is no ho
between them as long as spears, swords, axes or daggers will endure,
but lay on each upon other, and when they be well beaten[4] and that
the one party hath obtained the victory, they then glorify so in their
deeds of arms and are so joyful, that such as be taken they shall be
ransomed or they go out of the field, so that shortly each of them is
so content with other that at their departing-courteously they will
say, 'God thank you'; but in fighting one with another there is no
play nor sparing, and this is true, and that shall well appear by this
said rencounter, for it was as valiantly foughten as could be devised,
as ye shall hear.
[2] 'Which is called in the country Dalkeith.' The French has
'que on nomme au pays Dacquest,' of which the translator makes
'in the countrey of Alquest.'
[3] 'By both sides,' i.e. Scotch and English.
[4] 'When they have well fought.'
HOW THE EARL JAMES DOUGLAS BY HIS VALIANTNESS ENCOURAGED HIS MEN, WHO
WERE RECULED AND IN A MANNER DISCOMFITED, AND IN HIS SO DOING HE WAS
WOUNDED TO DEATH
Knights and squires were of good courage on both parties to fight
valiantly: cowards there had no place, but hardiness reigned with
goodly feats of arms, for knights and squires were so joined together
at hand strokes, that archers had no place of nother party. There the
Scots shewed great hardiness and fought merrily with great desire of
honour: the Englishmen were three to one: howbeit, I say not but
Englishmen did nobly acquit themselves, for ever the Englishmen had
rather been slain or taken in the place than to fly. Thus, as I have
said, the banners of Douglas and Percy and their men were met each
against other, envious who should win the honour of that journey. At
the beginning the Englishmen were so strong that they reculed back
their enemies: then the earl Douglas, who was of great heart and high
of enterprise, seeing his men recule back, then to recover the place
and to shew knightly valour he took his axe in both his hands, and
entered so into the press that he made himself way in such wise, that
none durst approach near him, and he was so well armed that he bare
well off such strokes as he received.[1] Thus he went ever forward
like a hardy Hector, willing alone to conquer the field and to
discomfit his enemies: but at last he was encountered with three
spears all at once, the one strake him on the shoulder, the other on
the breast and the stroke glinted down to his belly, and the third
strake him in the thigh, and sore hurt with all three strokes, so that
he was borne perforce to the earth and after that he could not be
again relieved. Some of his knights and squires followed him, but not
all, for it was night, and no light but by the shining of the moon.
The Englishmen knew well they had borne one down to the earth, but
they wist not who it was; for if they had known that it had been the
earl Douglas, they had been thereof so joyful and so proud that the
victory had been theirs. Nor also the Scots knew not of that adventure
till the end of the battle; for if they had known it, they should have
been so sore despaired and discouraged that they would have fled away.
Thus as the earl Douglas was felled to the earth, he was stricken into
the head with an axe, and another stroke through the thigh: the
Englishmen passed forth and took no heed of him: they thought none
otherwise but that they had slain a man of arms. On the other part the
earl George de la March and of Dunbar fought right valiantly and gave
the Englishmen much ado, and cried, 'Follow Douglas,' and set on the
sons of Percy: also earl John of Moray with his banner and men fought
valiantly and set fiercely on the Englishmen, and gave them so much to
do that they wist not to whom to attend.
[1] 'No man was so well armed that he did not fear the great
strokes which he gave.'
HOW IN THIS BATTLE SIR RALPH PERCY WAS SORE HURT AND TAKEN PRISONER BY
A SCOTTISH KNIGHT
Of all the battles and encounterings that I have made mention of
herebefore in all this history, great or small, this battle that I
treat of now was one of the sorest and best foughten without cowardice
or faint hearts. For there was nother knight nor squire but that did
his devoir and fought hand to hand: this battle was like the battle of
Becherel,[1] the which was valiantly fought and endured. The earl of
Northumberland's sons, sir Henry and sir Ralph Percy, who were chief
sovereign captains, acquitted themselves nobly, and sir Ralph Percy
entered in so far among his enemies that he was closed in and hurt,
and so sore handled that his breath was so short, that he was taken
prisoner by a knight of the earl of Moray's called sir John Maxwell.
In the taking the Scottish knight demanded what he was, for it was in
the night, so that he knew him not, and sir Ralph was so sore overcome
and bled fast, that at last he said: 'I am Ralph Percy.' Then the Scot
said: 'Sir Ralph, rescue or no rescue I take you for my prisoner: I am
Maxwell.' 'Well,' quoth sir Ralph, 'I am content: but then take heed
to me, for I am sore hurt, my hosen and my greaves are full of blood,'
Then the knight saw by him the earl Moray and said: 'Sir, here I
deliver to you sir Ralph Percy as prisoner; but, sir, let good heed be
taken to him, for he is sore hurt.' The earl was joyful of these words
and said: 'Maxwell, thou hast well won thy spurs.' Then he delivered
sir Ralph Percy to certain of his men, and they stopped and wrapped
his wounds: and still the battle endured, not knowing who had as then
the better, for there were many taken and rescued again that came to
no knowledge.
[1] Or, according to another reading, 'Cocherel.'
Now let us speak of the young James earl of Douglas, who did marvels
in arms or he was beaten down. When he was overthrown, the press was
great about him, so that he could not relieve, for with an axe he had
his death's wound. His men followed him as near as they could, and
there came to him sir James Lindsay his cousin and sir John and sir
Walter Sinclair and other knights and squires. And by him was a gentle
knight of his, who followed him all the day, and a chaplain of his,
not like a priest but like a valiant man of arms, for all that night
he followed the earl with a good axe in his hands and still
scrimmished about the earl thereas he lay, and reculed back some of
the Englishmen with great strokes that he gave. Thus he was found
fighting near to his master, whereby he had great praise, and thereby
the same year he was made archdeacon of Aberdeen. This priest was
called sir William of North Berwick: he was a tall man and a hardy and
was sore hurt. When these knights came to the earl, they found him in
an evil case and a knight of his lying by him called sir Robert Hart:
he had a fifteen wounds in one place and other. Then sir John Sinclair
demanded of the earl how he did. 'Right evil, cousin,' quoth the earl,
'but thanked be God there hath been but a few of mine ancestors that
hath died in their beds: but, cousin, I require you think to revenge
me, for I reckon myself but dead, for my heart fainteth oftentimes. My
cousin Walter and you, I pray you raise up again my banner which lieth
on the ground, and my squire Davie Collemine slain: but, sirs, shew
nother to friend nor foe in what case ye see me in; for if mine
enemies knew it, they would rejoice, and our friends discomforted.'
The two brethren of Sinclair and sir James Lindsay did as the earl had
desired them and raised up again his banner and cried 'Douglas!' Such
as were behind and heard that cry drew together and set on their
enemies valiantly and reculed back the Englishmen and many overthrown,
and so drave the Englishmen back beyond the place whereas the earl
lay, who was by that time dead, and so came to the earl's banner, the
which sir John Sinclair held in his hands, and many good knights and
squires of Scotland about him, and still company drew to the cry of
'Douglas.' Thither came the earl Moray with his banner well
accompanied, and also the earl de la March and of Dunbar, and when
they saw the Englishmen recule and their company assembled together,
they renewed again the battle and gave many hard and sad strokes.
HOW THE SCOTS WON THE BATTLE AGAINST THE ENGLISHMEN BESIDE OTTERBURN,
AND THERE WAS TAKEN PRISONERS SIR HENRY AND SIR RALPH PERCY, AND HOW
AN ENGLISH SQUIRE WOULD NOT YIELD HIM, NO MORE WOULD A SCOTTISH
SQUIRE, AND SO DIED BOTH; AND HOW THE BISHOP OF DURHAM AND HIS COMPANY
WERE DISCOMFITED AMONG THEMSELVES
To say truth, the Englishmen were sorer travailed than the Scots, for
they came the same day from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a six English miles,
and went a great pace to the intent to find the Scots, which they did;
so that by their fast going they were near out of breath, and the
Scots were fresh and well rested, which greatly availed them when time
was of their business: for in the last scrimmish they reculed back the
Englishmen in such wise, that after that they could no more assemble
together, for the Scots passed through their battles. And it fortuned
that sir Henry Percy and the lord of Montgomery, a valiant knight of
Scotland, fought together hand to hand right valiantly without letting
of any other, for every man had enough to do. So long they two fought
that per force of arms sir Henry Percy was taken prisoner by the said
lord of Montgomery.
The knights and squires of Scotland, as sir Marc Adreman,[1] sir
Thomas Erskine, sir William, sir James and sir Alexander Lindsay, the
lord of Fenton, sir John of Saint-Moreaulx,[2] sir Patrick of Dunbar,
sir John and sir Walter Sinclair, sir John Maxwell, sir Guy Stuart,
sir John Haliburton, sir Alexander Ramsay, Robert Collemine[3] and his
two sons John and Robert; who were there made knights, and a hundred
knights and squires that I cannot name, all these right valiantly did
acquit themselves. And on the English party, before that the lord
Percy was taken and after, there fought valiantly sir Ralph Lumley,
sir Matthew Redman, sir Thomas Ogle, sir Thomas Gray, sir Thomas
Helton, sir Thomas Abingdon, sir John Lilleburn, sir William
Walsingham, the baron of Helton, sir John of Colpedich,[4] the
seneschal of York and divers other footmen. Whereto should I write
long process? This was a sore battle and well foughten; and as fortune
is always changeable, though the Englishmen were more in number than
the Scots and were right valiant men of war and well expert, and that
at the first front they reculed back the Scots, yet finally the Scots
obtained the place and victory, and all the foresaid Englishmen taken,
and a hundred more, saving sir Matthew Redman, captain of Berwick, who
when he knew no remedy nor recoverance, and saw his company fly from
the Scots and yielded them on every side, then he took his horse and
departed to save himself.
[1] Perhaps 'Malcolm Drummond.'
[2] The true reading seems to be 'Sandilands.'
[3] Perhaps 'Coningham.'
[4] Either 'Copeland' or 'Copeldike.'
The same season about the end of this discomfiture there was an
English squire called Thomas Waltham, a goodly and a valiant man, and
that was well seen, for of all that night he would nother fly nor yet
yield him. It was said he had made a vow at a feast in England, that
the first time that ever he saw Englishmen and Scots in battle, he
would so do his devoir to his power, in such wise that either he would
be reputed for the best doer on both sides or else to die in the pain.
He was called a valiant and a hardy man and did so much by his
prowess, that under the banner of the earl of Moray he did such
valiantness in arms, that the Scots had marvel thereof, and so was
slain in fighting: the Scots would gladly have taken him alive, but he
would never yield, he hoped ever to have been rescued. And with him
there was a Scottish squire slain, cousin to the king of Scots, called
Simon Glendowyn; his death was greatly complained of the Scots.
This battle was fierce and cruel till it came to the end of the
discomfiture; but when the Scots saw the Englishmen recule and yield
themselves, then the Scots were courteous and set them to their
ransom, and every man said to his prisoner: 'Sirs, go and unarm you
and take your ease; I am your master:' and so made their prisoners as
good cheer as though they had been brethren, without doing to them any
damage. The chase endured a five English miles, and if the Scots had
been men enow, there had none scaped, but other they had been taken or
slain. And if Archambault Douglas and the earl of Fife, the earl
Sutherland and other of the great company who were gone towards
Carlisle had been there, by all likelihood they had taken the bishop
of Durham and the town of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. I shall shew you how.
The same evening that the Percies departed from Newcastle, as ye have
heard before, the bishop of Durham with the rearband came to Newcastle
and supped: and as he sat at the table, he had imagination in himself
how he did not acquit himself well to see the Englishmen in the field
and he to be within the town. Incontinent he caused the table to be
taken away and commanded to saddle his horses and to sown the
trumpets, and called up men in the town to arm themselves and to mount
on their horses, and foot-men to order themselves to depart. And thus
every man departed out of the town to the number of seven thousand,
two thousand on horseback and five thousand afoot; they took their way
toward Otterburn, whereas the battle had been. And by that time they
had gone two mile[5] from Newcastle tidings came to them how their men
were fighting with the Scots. Therewith the bishop rested there, and
incontinent came more flying fast, that they were out of breath. Then
they were demanded how the matter went. They answered and said: 'Right
evil; we be all discomfited: here cometh the Scots chasing of us.'
These tidings troubled the Englishmen, and began to doubt. And again
the third time men came flying as fast as they might. When the men of
the bishopric of Durham heard of these evil tidings, they were abashed
in such wise that they brake their array, so that the bishop could not
hold together the number of five hundred. It was thought that if the
Scots had followed them in any number, seeing that it was night, that
in the entering into the town, and the Englishmen so abashed, the town
had been won.
[5] The word 'lieue' is translated 'mile' throughout.
The bishop of Durham, being in the field, had good will to have
succoured the Englishmen and recomforted his men as much as he could;
but he saw his own men fly as well as other. Then he demanded counsel
of sir William Lucy and of sir Thomas Clifford and of other knights,
what was best to do. These knights for their honour would give him no
counsel; for they thought to return again and do nothing should sown
greatly to their blame, and to go forth might be to their great
damage; and so stood still and would give none answer, and the longer
they stood, the fewer they were, for some still stale away. Then the
bishop said: 'Sirs, all things considered, it is none honour to put
all in peril, nor to make of one evil damage twain. We hear how our
company be discomfited, and we cannot remedy it: for to go to recover
them, we know not with whom nor with what number we shall meet. Let us
return fair and easily for this night to Newcastle, and to-morrow let
us draw together and go look on our enemies.' Every man answered: 'As
God will, so be it.' Therewith they returned to Newcastle. Thus a man
may consider the great default that is in men that be abashed and
discomfited: for if they had kept them together and have turned again
such as fled, they had discomfited the Scots. This was the opinion of
divers; and because they did not thus, the Scots had the victory.
HOW SIR MATTHEW REDMEN DEPARTED FROM THE BATTLE TO SAVE HIMSELF; AND
HOW SIR JAMES LINDSAY WAS TAKEN PRISONER BY THE BISHOP OF DURHAM; AND
HOW AFTER THE BATTLE SCURRERS WERE SENT FORTH TO DISCOVER THE COUNTRY
I shall shew you of sir Matthew Redman, who was on horseback to save
himself, for he alone could not remedy the matter. At his departing
sir James Lindsay was near to him and saw how sir Matthew departed,
and this sir James, to win honour, followed in chase sir Matthew
Redman, and came so near him that he might have striken him with his
spear, if he had list. Then he said: 'Ah, sir knight, turn; it is a
shame thus to fly: I am James of Lindsay: if ye will not turn, I shall
strike you on the back with my spear.' Sir Matthew spake no word, but
strake his horse with the spurs sorer than he did before. In this
manner he chased him more than three miles, and at last sir Matthew
Redman's horse foundered and fell under him. Then he stept forth on
the earth and drew out his sword, and took courage to defend himself;
and the Scot thought to have stricken him on the breast, but sir
Matthew Redman swerved from the stroke, and the spear-point entered
into the earth. Then sir Matthew strake asunder the spear with his
sword; and when sir James Lindsay saw how he had lost his spear, he
cast away the truncheon and lighted afoot, and took a little
battle-axe that he carried at his back and handled it with his one
hand quickly and deliverly, in the which feat Scots be well expert,
and then he set at sir Matthew and he defended himself properly. Thus
they tourneyed together, one with an axe and the other with a sword, a
long season, and no man to let them. Finally sir James Lindsay gave
the knight such strokes and held him so short, that he was put out of
breath in such wise that he yielded himself, and said: 'Sir James
Lindsay, I yield me to you.' 'Well,' quoth he, 'and I receive you,
rescue or no rescue,' 'I am content,' quoth Redman, 'so ye deal with
me like a good companion.' 'I shall not fail that,' quoth Lindsay, and
so put up his sword. 'Well, sir,' quoth Redman, 'what will you now
that I shall do? I am your prisoner, ye have conquered me. I would
gladly go again to Newcastle, and within fifteen days I shall come to
you into Scotland, whereas ye shall assign me.' 'I am content,' quoth
Lindsay: 'ye shall promise by your faith to present yourself within
this three weeks at Edinboro, and wheresoever ye go, to repute
yourself my prisoner,' All this sir Matthew sware and promised to
fulfil. Then each of them took their horses and took leave each of
other. Sir James returned, and his intent was to go to his own company
the same way that he came, and sir Matthew Redman to Newcastle.
Sir James Lindsay could not keep the right way as he came: it was dark
and a mist, and he had not ridden half a mile, but he met face to face
with the bishop of Durham and more than five hundred Englishmen with
him. He might well escaped if he had would, but he supposed it had
been his own company, that had pursued the Englishmen. When he was
among them, one demanded of him what he was. 'I am,' quoth he, 'sir
James Lindsay,' The bishop heard those words and stept to him and
said: 'Lindsay, ye are taken: yield ye to me.' 'Who be you?' quoth
Lindsay. 'l am,' quoth he, 'the bishop of Durham.' 'And from whence
come you, sir?' quoth Lindsay. 'I come from the battle,' quoth the
bishop, 'but I struck never a stroke there. I go back to Newcastle for
this night, and ye shall go with me,' 'I may not choose,' quoth
Lindsay, 'sith ye will have it so. I have taken and I am taken; such
is the adventures of arms.' 'Whom have ye taken?' quoth the bishop.
'Sir,' quoth he, 'I took in the chase sir Matthew Redman.' 'And where
is he?' quoth the bishop. 'By my faith, sir, he is returned to
Newcastle: he desired me to trust him on his faith for three weeks,
and so have I done,' 'Well,' quoth the bishop, 'let us go to
Newcastle, and there ye shall speak with him.' Thus they rode to
Newcastle together, and sir James Lindsay was prisoner to the bishop
of Durham.
Under the banner of the earl de la March and of Dunbar was taken a
squire of Gascoyne, called John of Chateauneuf, and under the banner
of the earl of Moray was taken his companion John de Camiron. Thus the
field was clean avoided, or the day appeared. The Scots drew together
and took guides and sent out scurrers to see if any men were in the
way from Newcastle, to the intent that they would not be troubled in
their lodgings; wherein they did wisely, for when the bishop of Durham
was come again to Newcastle and in his lodging, he was sore pensive
and wist not what to say nor do; for he heard say how his cousins the
Percies were slain or taken, and all the knights that were with them.
Then he sent for all the knights and squires that were in the town;
and when they were come, he demanded of them if they should leave the
matter in that case, and said: 'Sirs, we shall bear great blame if we
thus return without looking on our enemies,' Then they concluded by
the sun-rising every man to be armed, and on horseback and afoot to
depart out of the town and to go to Otterburn to fight with the Scots.
This was warned through the town by a trumpet, and every man armed
them and assembled before the bridge, and by the sun-rising they
departed by the gate towards Berwick and took the way towards
Otterburn to the number of ten thousand, what afoot and a-horseback.
They were not gone past two mile from Newcastle, when the Scots were
signified that the bishop of Durham was coming to themward to fight:
this they knew by their spies, such as they had set in the fields.
After that sir Matthew Redman was returned to Newcastle and had shewed
to divers how he had been taken prisoner by sir James Lindsay, then it
was shewed him how the bishop of Durham had taken the said sir James
Lindsay and how that he was there in the town as his prisoner. As soon
as the bishop was departed, sir Matthew Redman went to the bishop's
lodging to see his master, and there he found him in a study, lying in
a window,[1] and said: 'What, sir James Lindsay, what make you here?'
Then sir James came forth of the study to him and gave him good
morrow, and said: 'By my faith, sir Matthew, fortune hath brought me
hither; for as soon as I was departed from you, I met by chance the
bishop of Durham, to whom I am prisoner, as ye be to me. I believe ye
shall not need to come to Edinboro to me to make your finance: I think
rather we shall make an exchange one for another, if the bishop be so
content.' 'Well, sir,' quoth Redman, 'we shall accord right well
together, ye shall dine this day with me: the bishop and our men be
gone forth to fight with your men, I cannot tell what shall fall, we
shall know at their return.' 'I am content to dine with you,' quoth
Lindsay. Thus these two knights dined together in Newcastle.
[1] Or rather, 'very pensive leaning against a window,' and
afterwards the expression 'came forth of the study to him'
should be 'broke off his thought and came towards him.'
When the knights of Scotland were informed how the bishop of Durham
came on them with ten thousand men, they drew to council to see what
was best for them to do, other to depart or else to abide the
adventure. All things considered, they concluded to abide, for they
said they could not be in a better nor a stronger place than they were
in already; they had many prisoners and they could not carry them
away, if they should have departed; and also they had many of their
men hurt and also some of their prisoners, whom they thought they
would not leave behind them. Thus they drew together and ordered so
their field, that there was no entry but one way, and they set all
their prisoners together and made them to promise how that, rescue or
no rescue, they should be their prisoners. After that they made all
their minstrels to blow up all at once and made the greatest revel of
the world. Lightly it is the usage of Scots, that when they be thus
assembled together in arms, the footmen beareth about their necks
horns in manner like hunters, some great, some small, and of all
sorts, so that when they blow all at once, they make such a noise,
that it may be heard nigh four miles off: thus they do to abash their
enemies and to rejoice themselves. When the bishop of Durham with his
banner and ten thousand men with him were approached, within a league,
then the Scots blew their horns in such wise, that it seemed that all
the devils in hell had been among them, so that such as heard them and
knew not of their usage were sore abashed. This blowing and noise
endured a long space and then ceased: and by that time the Englishmen
were within less than a mile. Then the Scots began to blow again and
made a great noise, and as long endured as it did before. Then the
bishop approached with his battle well ranged in good order and came
within the sight of the Scots, as within two bow-shot or less: then
the Scots blew again their horns a long space. The bishop stood still
to see what the Scots would do and aviewed them well and saw how they
were in a strong ground greatly to their advantage. Then the bishop
took counsel what was best for him to do; but all things well advised,
they were not in purpose to enter in among the Scots to assail them,
but returned without doing of anything, for they saw well they might
rather lose than win.
When the Scots saw the Englishmen recule and that they should have no
battle, they went to their lodgings and made merry, and then ordained
to depart from thence. And because that sir Ralph Percy was sore hurt,
he desired of his master that he might return to Newcastle or into
some place, whereas it pleased him unto such time as he were whole of
his hurts, promising, as soon as he were able to ride, to return into
Scotland, other to Edinboro or into any other place appointed. The
earl of March, under whom he was taken, agreed thereto and delivered
him a horse litter and sent him away; and by like covenant divers
other knights and squires were suffered to return and took term other
to return or else to pay their finance, such as they were appointed
unto. It was shewed me by the information of the Scots, such as had
been at this said battle that was between Newcastle and Otterburn in
the year of our Lord God a thousand three hundred fourscore and eight,
the nineteenth day of August, how that there were taken prisoners of
the English party a thousand and forty men, one and other, and slain
in the field and in the chase eighteen hundred and forty, and sore
hurt more than a thousand: and of the Scots there were a hundred
slain, and taken in the chase more than two hundred; for as the
Englishmen fled, when they saw any advantage they returned again and
fought: by that means the Scots were taken and none otherwise. Every
man may well consider that it was a well fought field, when there were
so many slain and taken on both parties.
HOW THE SCOTS DEPARTED AND CARRIED WITH THEM THE EARL DOUGLAS DEAD,
AND BURIED HIM IN THE ABBEY OF MELROSE; AND HOW SIR ARCHAMBAULT
DOUGLAS AND HIS COMPANY DEPARTED FROM BEFORE CARLISLE AND RETURNED
INTO SCOTLAND
After this battle thus finished, every man returned,[1] and the earl
Douglas' dead body chested and laid in a chare, and with him sir
Robert Hart and Simon Glendowyn, then they prepared to depart: so they
departed and led with them sir Henry Percy and more than forty knights
of England, and took the way to the abbey of Melrose. At their
departing they set fire in their lodgings, and rode all the day, and
yet lay that night in the English ground: none denied them. The next
day they dislodged early in the morning and so came that day to
Melrose. It is an abbey of black monks on the border between both
realms. There they rested and buried the earl James Douglas. The
second day after his obsequy was done reverently, and on his body laid
a tomb of stone and his banner hanging over him. Whether there were as
then any more earls of Douglas, to whom the land returned, or not, I
cannot tell; for I, sir John Froissart, author of the book, was in
Scotland in the earl's castle of Dalkeith, living earl William, at
which time he had two children, a son and a daughter; but after there
were many of the Douglases, for I have seen a five brethren, all
squires, bearing the name of Douglas, in the king of Scotland's house,
David; they were sons to a knight in Scotland called sir James
Douglas, and they bare in their arms gold, three oreilles gules, but
as for the heritage, I know not who had it: as for sir Archambault
Douglas, of whom I have spoken before in this history in divers
places, who was a valiant knight, and greatly redoubted of the
Englishmen, he was but a bastard.
[1] That is, 'After the battle was over and every man had
returned,' but it should be, 'After all this was done and
everything was gathered together.'
When these Scots had been at Melrose abbey and done there all that
they came thither for, then they departed each from other and went
into their own countries, and such as had prisoners, some led them
away with them and some were ransomed and suffered to return. Thus
the Englishmen found the Scots right courteous and gentle in their
deliverance and ransom, so that they were well content. This was
shewed me in the country of Bearn in the earl of Foix's house by a
knight named John of Chateauneuf, who was taken prisoner at the same
journey under the banner of the earl of March and Dunbar: and he
greatly praised the said earl, for he suffered him to pass in manner
as he desired himself.
Thus these men of war of Scotland departed, and ransomed their
prisoners as soon as they might right courteously, and so returned
little and little into their own countries. And it was shewed me and I
believe it well, that the Scots had by reason of that journey two
hundred thousand franks for ransoming of prisoners: for sith the
battle that was before Stirling in Scotland, whereas sir Robert of
Bruce, sir William Douglas, sir Robert Versy, sir Simon Fraser and
other Scots chased the Englishmen three days, they never had journey
so profitable nor so honourable for them, as this was. When tidings
came to the other company of the Scots that were beside Carlisle, how
their company had distressed the Englishmen beside Otterburn, they
were greatly rejoiced, and displeased in their minds that they had not
been there. Then they determined to dislodge and to draw into their
own countries, seeing their other company were withdrawn. Thus they
dislodged and entered into Scotland.
Now let us leave to speak of the Scots and of the Englishmen for this
time, and let us return to the young Charles of France, who with a
great people went into Almaine, to bring the duke of Gueldres to
reason.
When the French king and all his army were past the river of Meuse at
the bridge of Morsay, they took the way of Ardennes and of Luxembourg,
and always the pioneers were before, beating woods and bushes and
making the ways plain. The duke of Juliers and his country greatly
doubted the coming of the French king, for they knew well they should
have the first assault and bear the first burden: and the land of
Juliers is a plain country; in one day the men of war should do much
damage there, and destroy and waste all, except the castles and good
towns. Thus the French king entered into the country of Luxembourg and
came to an abbey, whereas Wenceslas sometime duke of Brabant was
buried. There the king tarried two days: then he departed and took the
way through Bastogne, and lodged within a league whereas the duchess
of Brabant lay. She sent word of her being there to the duke of
Burgoyne, and he brought her into the field to speak with the king,
who received her right honourably, and there communed together. Then
the duchess returned to Bastogne, and thither she was conveyed with
sir John of Vienne and sir Guy of Tremouille; and the next day the
king went forward, approaching to the land of his enemies, and came to
the entering into Almaine, on the frontiers of the duchy of Juliers.
But or he came so far forward, Arnold bishop of Liege had been with
the king and had greatly entreated for the duke of Juliers, that the
king should not be miscontent with him, though he were father to the
duke of Gueldres; for he excused him of the defiance that his son had
made, affirming how it was not by his knowledge nor consent,
wherefore, he said, it were pity that the father should bear the
default of the son. This excuse was not sufficient to the king nor to
his uncles: for the intent of the king and his council was, without
the duke of Juliers would come and make other manner of excuse, and to
yield himself to the king's pleasure, his country should be the first
that should bear the burden. Then the bishop of Liege and the lords of
Hesbaing and the councils of the good towns offered to the king and
his council wholly the bishopric of Liege for his army to pass and
repass paying for their expenses, and to rest and refresh them there
as long as it pleased them. The king thanked them, and so did his
uncles, and would not refuse their offer, for he knew not what need he
should have after.
THE HOLY GRAIL FROM THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR
BY
SIR THOMAS MALORY
_INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The earliest extant form of the story of the Holy Grail is the French
metrical romance of "Perceval" or "Le Conte du Graal" of Chrétien de
Troies, written about 1175. Chrétien died leaving the poem unfinished,
and it was continued by three other authors till it reached the vast
size of 63,000 lines. The religious signification of the Grail is
supposed to have been attached to it early in the thirteenth century
by Robert de Boron; and, perhaps a little later, in the French prose
"Quest of the Holy Grail," Galahad takes the place of Perceval as the
hero of the story. The later history of the various versions of the
legend is highly intricate, and in many points uncertain. It was from
a form of it embodied in the French prose "Lancelot" that Sir Thomas
Malory drew the chapters of his "Morte d'Arthur" which are here
reprinted, and which, more than the earlier versions, are the source
from which the legend has passed into modern English poetry.
Until a few years ago Malory himself was little more than a name, our
information about him being limited to the statement in Caxton's
edition of the "Morte d'Arthur" that he was the author. It now appears
probable, however, that Sir Thomas Malory was an English knight born
about 1400, of an old Warwickshire family. He served in the French
wars under Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, "whom all Europe
recognized as embodying the knightly ideal of the age" and may well
have owed his enthusiasm for chivalry to his association with this
distinguished nobleman. He died in 1471.
Malory's book is a compilation from French and English sources. These
are chosen without much discrimination, and put together without great
skill in arrangement. But the author's whole-hearted enthusiasm for
chivalrous ideals and the noble simplicity and fine rhythm of his
prose have combined to give his work a unique place in English
literature. In it the age of chivalry is summed up and closed. It is
not without reason that the date of its publication by Caxton, 1485,
should be conventionally accepted as the end of the Middle Ages in
England. Romance had passed under the printing press, and a new age
had begun._
THE HOLY GRAIL
BEING BOOKS XIII, XIV, XV, XVI and XVII OF THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR AND
OF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE
THE THIRTEENTH BOOK.
CHAPTER I
HOW AT THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST OF PENTECOST ENTERED INTO THE HALL
BEFORE KING ARTHUR A DAMOSEL, AND DESIRED SIR LAUNCELOT FOR TO COME
AND DUB A KNIGHT, AND HOW HE WENT WITH HER
At the vigil of Pentecost, when all the fellowship of the Round Table
were come unto Camelot and there heard their service, and the tables
were set ready to the meat, right so entered into the hall a full fair
gentlewoman on horseback, that had ridden full fast, for her horse was
all besweated. Then she there alit, and came before the king and
saluted him; and he said: Damosel, God thee bless. Sir, said she, for
God's sake say me where Sir Launcelot is. Yonder ye may see him, said
the king. Then she went unto Launcelot and said: Sir Launcelot, I
salute you on King Pelles' behalf, and I require you come on with me
hereby into a forest. Then Sir Launcelot asked her with whom she
dwelled. I dwell, said she, with King Pelles. What will ye with me?
said Launcelot. Ye shall know, said she, when ye come thither. Well,
said he, I will gladly go with you. So Sir Launcelot bad his squire
saddle his horse and bring his arms; and in all haste he did his
commandment. Then came the queen unto Launcelot, and said: Will ye
leave us at this high feast? Madam, said the gentlewoman, wit ye well
he shall be with you tomorn by dinner time. If I wist, said the queen,
that he should not be with us here tomorn he should not go with you by
my good will. Right so departed Sir Launcelot with the gentlewoman,
and rode until that he came into a forest and into a great valley,
where they saw an abbey of nuns; and there was a squire ready and
opened the gates, and so they entered and descended off their horses;
and there came a fair fellowship about Sir Launcelot, and welcomed
him, and were passing glad of his coming. And then they led him unto
the Abbess's chamber and unarmed him; and right so he was ware upon a
bed lying two of his cousins, Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, and then he
waked them; and when they saw him they made great joy. Sir, said Sir
Bors unto Sir Launcelot, what adventure hath brought you hither, for
we weened tomorn to have found you at Camelot? As God me help, said
Sir Launcelot, a gentlewoman brought me hither, but I know not the
cause. In the meanwhile that they thus stood talking together, therein
came twelve nuns that brought with them Galahad, the which was passing
fair and well made, that unnethe in the world men might not find his
match: and all those ladies wept. Sir, said they all, we bring you
here this child the which we have nourished, and we pray you to make
him a knight, for of a more worthier man's hand may he not receive the
order of knighthood. Sir Launcelot beheld the young squire and saw him
seemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of good features, that he
weened of his age never to have seen so fair a man of form. Then said
Sir Launcelot: Cometh this desire of himself? He and all they said
yea. Then shall he, said Sir Launcelot, receive the high order of
knighthood as tomorn at the reverence of the high feast. That night
Sir Launcelot had passing good cheer; and on the morn at the hour of
prime, at Galahad's desire, he made him knight and said: God make him
a good man, for of beauty faileth you not as any that liveth.
CHAPTER II
HOW THE LETTERS WERE FOUND WRITTEN IN THE SIEGE PERILOUS, AND OF THE
MARVELLOUS ADVENTURE OF THE SWORD IN A STONE
Now fair sir, said Sir Launcelot, will ye come with me unto the court
of King Arthur? Nay, said he, I will not go with you as at this time.
Then he departed from them and took his two cousins with him, and so
they came unto Camelot by the hour of underne on Whitsunday. By that
time the king and the queen were gone to the minster to hear their
service. Then the king and the queen were passing glad of Sir Bors and
Sir Lionel, and so was all the fellowship. So when the king and all
the knights were come from service, the barons espied in the sieges of
the Round Table all about, written with golden letters: Here ought to
sit he, and he ought to sit here. And thus they went so long till that
they came to the Siege Perilous, where they found letters newly
written of gold which said: Four hundred winters and four and fifty
accomplished after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ ought this
siege to be fulfilled. Then all they said: This is a marvellous thing
and an adventurous. In the name of God, said Sir Launcelot; and then
accounted the term of the writing from the birth of our Lord unto that
day. It seemeth me, said Sir Launcelot, this siege ought to be
fulfilled this same day, for this is the feast of Pentecost after the
four hundred and four and fifty year; and if it would please all
parties, I would none of these letters were seen this day, till he be
come that ought to achieve this adventure. Then made they to ordain a
cloth of silk, for to cover these letters in the Siege Perilous. Then
the king bad haste unto dinner. Sir, said Sir Kay the Steward, if ye
go now to your meat ye shall break your old custom of your court, for
ye have not used on this day to sit at your meat or that ye have seen
some adventure. Ye say sooth, said the king, but I had so great joy of
Sir Launcelot and of his cousins, which he come to the court whole and
sound, so that I bethought me not of mine old custom. So, as they
stood speaking, in came a squire and said unto the king: Sir, I bring
unto you marvellous tidings. What be they? said the king. Sir, there
is here beneath at the river a great stone which I saw fleet above the
water, and therein I saw sticking a sword. The king said: I will see
that marvel. So all the knights went with him, and when they came to
the river they found there a stone fleeting, as it were of red marble,
and therein stuck a fair rich sword, and in the pommel thereof were
precious stones wrought with subtil letters of gold. Then the barons
read the letters which said in this wise: Never shall man take me
hence, but only he by whose side I ought to hang, and he shall be the
best knight of the world. When the king had seen the letters, he said
unto Sir Launcelot: Fair sir, this sword ought to be yours, for I am
sure ye be the best knight of the world. Then Sir Launcelot answered
full soberly: Certes, sir, it is not my sword; also, Sir, wit ye well
I have no hardiness to set my hand to it, for it longed not to hang by
my side. Also, who that assayeth to take the sword and faileth of it,
he shall receive a wound by that sword that he shall not be whole long
after. And I will that ye wit that this same day shall the adventures
of the Sangreal, that is called the Holy Vessel, begin.
CHAPTER III
HOW SIR GAWAINE ESSAYED TO DRAW OUT THE SWORD, AND HOW AN OLD MAN
BROUGHT IN GALAHAD
Now, fair nephew, said the king unto Sir Gawaine, essay ye, for my
love Sir, he said, save your good grace I shall not do that. Sir, said
the king, essay to take the sword and at my commandment. Sir, said
Gawaine, your commandment I will obey. And therewith he took up the
sword by the handles, but he might not stir it. I thank you, said the
king to Sir Gawaine. My lord Sir Gawaine, said Sir Launcelot, now wit
ye well this sword shall touch you so sore that ye shall will ye had
never set your hand thereto for the best castle of this realm. Sir, he
said, I might not withsay mine uncle's will and commandment. But when
the king heard this he repented it much, and said unto Sir Percivale
that he should essay, for his love. And he said: Gladly, for to bear
Sir Gawaine fellowship. And therewith he set his hand on the sword and
drew it strongly, but he might not move it. Then were there more that
durst be so hardy, to set their hands thereto. Now may ye go to your
dinner, said Sir Kay unto the King, for a marvellous adventure have ye
seen. So the king and all went unto the court, and every knight knew
his own place, and set him therein, and young men that were knights
served them. So when they were served, and all sieges fulfilled save
only the Siege Perilous, anon there befell a marvellous adventure,
that all the doors and windows of the palace shut by themself. Not for
then the hall was not greatly darked; and therewith they abashed both
one and other. Then King Arthur spake first and said: By God, fair
fellows and lords, we have seen this day marvels, but or night I
suppose we shall see greater marvels. In the meanwhile came in a good
old man, and an ancient, clothed all in white, and there was no knight
knew from whence he came. And with him he brought a young knight, both
on foot, in red arms, without sword or shield, save a scabbard hanging
by his side. And these words he said: Peace be with you, fair lords.
Then the old man said unto Arthur: Sir, I bring here a young knight,
the which is of king's lineage, and of the kindred of Joseph of
Aramathie, whereby the marvels of this court, and of strange realms,
shall be fully accomplished.
CHAPTER IV
HOW THE OLD MAN BROUGHT GALAHAD TO THE SIEGE PERILOUS AND SET HIM
THEREIN, AND HOW ALL THE KNIGHTS MARVELLED
The king was right glad of his words, and said unto the good man: Sir,
ye be right welcome, and the young knight with you. Then the old man
made the young man to unarm him, and he was in a coat of red sendel,
and bare a mantle upon his shoulder that was furred with ermine, and
put that upon him. And the old knight said unto the young knight: Sir,
follow me. And anon he led him unto the Siege Perilous, where beside
sat Sir Launcelot; and the good man lift up the cloth, and found there
letters that said thus: This is the siege of Galahad, the haut prince.
Sir, said the old knight, wit ye well that place is yours. And then he
set him down surely in that siege. And then he said to the old man:
Sir, ye may now go your way, for well have ye done that ye were
commanded to do; and recommend me unto my grandsire, King Pelles, and
unto my lord Petchere, and say them on my behalf, I shall come and see
them as soon as ever I may. So the good man departed; and there met
him twenty noble squires, and so took their horses and went their way.
Then all the knights of the Table Round marvelled greatly of Sir
Galahad, that he durst sit there in that Siege Perilous, and was so
tender of age; and wist not from whence he came but all only by God;
and said: This is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved, for there
sat never none but he, but he were mischieved. Then Sir Launcelot
beheld his son and had great joy of him. Then Bors told his fellows:
Upon pain of my life this young knight shall come unto great worship.
This noise was great in all the court, so that it came to the queen.
Then she had marvel what knight it might be that durst adventure him
to sit in the Siege Perilous. Many said unto the queen he resembled
much unto Sir Launcelot. I may well suppose, said the queen, that Sir
Launcelot begat him on King Pelles' daughter, by the which he was made
to lie by, by enchantment, and his name is Galahad. I would fain see
him, said the queen, for he must needs be a noble man, for so is his
father that him begat, I report me unto all the Table Round. So when
the meat was done that the king and all were risen, the king yede unto
the Siege Perilous and lift up the cloth, and found there the name of
Galahad; and then he shewed it unto Sir Gawaine, and said: Fair
nephew, now have we among us Sir Galahad, the good knight that shall
worship us all; and upon pain of my life he shall achieve the
Sangreal, right as Sir Launcelot had done us to understand. Then came
King Arthur unto Galahad and said: Sir, ye be welcome, for ye shall
move many good knights to the quest of the Sangreal, and ye shall
achieve that never knights might bring to an end. Then the king took
him by the hand, and went down from the palace to shew Galahad the
adventures of the stone.
CHAPTER V
HOW KING ARTHUR SHEWED THE STONE HOVING ON THE WATER TO GALAHAD, AND
HOW HE DREW OUT THE SWORD
The queen heard thereof, and came after with many ladies, and shewed
them the stone where it hoved on the water. Sir, said the king unto
Sir Galahad, here is a great marvel as ever I saw, and right good
knights have essayed and failed. Sir, said Galahad, that is no marvel,
for this adventure is not theirs but mine; and for the surety of this
sword I brought none with me, for here by my side hangeth the
scabbard. And anon he laid his hand on the sword, and lightly drew it
out of the stone, and put it in the sheath, and said unto, the king:
Now it goeth better than it did aforehand. Sir, said the King, a
shield God shall send you. Now have I that sword that sometime was the
good knight's, Balin le Savage, and he was a passing good man of his
hands; and with this sword he slew his brother Balan, and that was
great pity, for he was a good knight, and either slew other through a
dolorous strode that Balin gave unto my grandfather King Pelles, the
which is not yet whole, nor not shall be till I heal him. Therewith
the king and all espied where came riding down the river a lady on a
white palfrey toward them. Then she saluted the king and the queen,
and asked if that Sir Launcelot was there. And then he answered
himself: I am here, fair lady. Then she said all with weeping: How
your great doing is changed sith this day in the morn. Damosel, why
say you so? said Launcelot. I say you sooth, said the damosel, for ye
were this day the best knight of the world, but who should say so now,
he should be a liar, for there is now one better than ye, and well it
is proved by the adventures of the sword whereto ye durst not set to
your hand; and that is the change and leaving of your name. Wherefore
I make unto you a remembrance, that ye shall not ween from henceforth
that ye be the best knight of the world. As touching unto that, said
Launcelot, I know well I was never the best. Yes, said the damosel,
that were ye, and are yet, of any sinful man of the world. And, Sir
king, Nacien, the hermit, sendeth thee word, that thee shall befall
the greatest worship that ever befell king in Britain; and I say you
wherefore, for this day the Sangreal appeared in thy house and fed
thee and all thy fellowship of the Round Table. So she departed and
went that same way that she came.
CHAPTER VI
HOW KING ARTHUR HAD ALL THE KNIGHTS TOGETHER FOR TO JOUST IN THE
MEADOW BESIDE CAMELOT OR THEY DEPARTED
Now, said the king, I am sure at this quest of the Sangreal shall all
ye of the Table Round depart, and never shall I see you again whole
together; therefore I will see you all whole together in the meadow of
Camelot to joust and to tourney, that after your death men may speak
of it that such good knights were wholly together such a day. As unto
that counsel and at the king's request they accorded all, and took on
their harness that longed unto jousting. But all this moving of the
king was for this intent, for to see Galahad proved; for the king
deemed he should not lightly come again unto the court after his
departing. So were they assembled in the meadow both more and less.
Then Sir Galahad, by the prayer of the king and the queen, did upon
him a noble jesseraunce, and also he did on his helm, but shield would
he take none for no prayer of the king. And then Sir Gawaine and other
knights prayed him to take a spear. Right so he did; and the queen was
in a tower with all her ladies, for to behold that tournament. Then
Sir Galahad dressed him in middes of the meadow, and began to break
spears marvellously, that all men had wonder of him; for he there
surmounted all other knights, for within a while he had defouled many
good knights of the Table Round save twain, that was Sir Launcelot and
Sir Percivale.
CHAPTER VII
HOW THE QUEEN DESIRED TO SEE GALAHAD; AND HOW AFTER, ALL THE KNIGHTS
WERE REPLENISHED WITH THE HOLY SANGREAL, AND HOW THEY AVOWED THE
ENQUEST OF THE SAME
The the king, at the queen's request, made him to alight and to unlace
his helm, that the queen might see him in the visage. When she beheld
him she said: Soothly I dare well say that Sir Launcelot begat him,
for never two men resembled more in likeness, therefore it is no
marvel though he be of great prowess. So a lady that stood by the
queen said: Madam, for God's sake ought he of right to be so good a
knight? Yea, forsooth, said the queen, for he is of all parties come
of the best knights of the world and of the highest lineage; for Sir
Launcelot is come but of the eighth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ,
and Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ,
therefore I dare say they be the greatest gentlemen of the world. And
then the king and all estates went home unto Camelot, and so went to
evensong to the great minster, and so after upon that to supper, and
every knight sat in his own place as they were toforehand. Then anon
they heard cracking and crying of thunder, that them thought the place
should all to drive. In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeam more
clearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and all they were
alighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began every knight to
behold other, and either saw other, by their seeming, fairer than ever
they saw afore. Not for then there was no knight might speak one word
a great while, and so they looked every man on other as they had been
dumb. Then there entered into the hall the Holy Greal covered with
white samite, but there was none might see it, nor who bare it. And
there was all the hall fulfilled with good odours, and every knight
had such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world. And when the
Holy Greal had been borne through the hall, then the Holy Vessel
departed suddenly, that they wist not where it became: then had they
all breath to speak. And then the king yielded thankings to God, of
His good grace that he had sent them. Certes, said the king, we ought
to thank our Lord Jesu greatly for that he hath shewed us this day, at
the reverence of this high feast of Pentecost. Now, said Sir Gawaine,
we have been served this day of what meats and drinks we thought on;
but one thing beguiled us, we might not see the holy Grail, it was so
preciously covered. Wherefore I will make here avow, that tomorn,
without longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest of the Sangreal,
that I shall hold me out a twelvemonth and a day, or more if need be,
and never shall I return again unto the court till I have seen it more
openly than it hath been seen here; and if I may not speed I shall
return again as he that may not be against the will of our Lord Jesu
Christ. When they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawaine say so, they
arose up the most part and made such avows as Sir Gawaine had made.
Anon as King Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he wist
well they might not again say their avows. Alas, said King Arthur unto
Sir Gawaine, ye have nigh slain me with the avow and promise that ye
have made; for through you ye have bereft me the fairest fellowship
and the truest of knighthood that ever were seen together in any realm
of the world; for when they depart from hence I am sure they all shall
never meet more in this world, for they shall die many in the quest.
And so it forthinketh me a little, for I have loved them as well as my
life, wherefore it shall grieve me right sore, the departition of this
fellowship: for I have had an old custom to have them in my
fellowship.
CHAPTER VIII
HOW GREAT SORROW WAS MADE OF THE KING AND THE QUEEN AND LADIES FOR THE
DEPARTING OF THE KNIGHTS, AND HOW THEY DEPARTED
And therewith the tears filled in his eyes. And then he said: Gawaine,
Gawaine, ye have set me in great sorrow, for I have great doubt that
my true fellowship shall never meet here more again. Ah, said Sir
Launcelot, comfort yourself; for it shall be unto us a great honour
and much more than if we died in any other places, for of death we be
siccar. Ah, Launcelot, said the king, the great love that I have had
unto you all the days of my life maketh me to say such doleful words;
for never Christian king had never so many worthy men at his table as
I have had this day at the Round Table, and that is my great sorrow.
When the queen, ladies, and gentlewomen, wist these tidings, they had
such sorrow and heaviness that there might no tongue tell it, for
those knights had held them in honour and charity. But among all other
Queen Guenever made great sorrow. I marvel, said she, my lord would
suffer them to depart from him. Thus was all the court troubled for
the love of the departition of those knights. And many of those ladies
that loved knights would have gone with their lovers; and so had they
done, had not an old knight come among them in religious clothing; and
then he spake all on high and said: Fair lords, which have sworn in
the quest of the Sangreal, thus sendeth you Nacien, the hermit, word,
that none in this quest lead lady nor gentlewoman with him, for it is
not to do in so high a service as they labour in; for I warn you
plain, he that is not clean of his sins he shall not see the mysteries
of our Lord Jesu Christ. And for this cause they left these ladies and
gentlewomen. After this the queen came unto Galahad and asked him of
whence he was, and of what country. He told her of whence he was. And
son unto Launcelot, she said he was. As to that, he said neither yea
or nay. So God me help, said the queen, of your father ye need not to
shame you, for he is the goodliest knight, and of the best men of the
world come, and of the strain of all parties, of kings. Wherefore ye
ought of right to be, of your deeds, a passing good man; and
certainly, she said, ye resemble him much. Then Sir Galahad was a
little ashamed and said: Madam, sith ye know in certain, wherefore do
ye ask it me? for he that is my father shall be known openly and all
betimes. And then they went to rest them. And in the honour of the
highness of Galahad he was led into King Arthur's chamber, and there
rested in his own bed. And as soon as it was day the king arose, for
he had no rest of all that night for sorrow. Then he went unto Gawaine
and to Sir Launcelot that were arisen for to hear mass. And then the
king again said: Ah Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have betrayed me; for never
shall my court be amended by you, but ye will never be sorry for me as
I am for you. And therewith the tears began to run down by his visage.
And therewith the king said: Ah, knight Sir Launcelot, I require thee
thou counsel me, for I would that this quest were undone an it might
be. Sir, said Sir Launcelot, ye saw yesterday so many worthy knights
that then were sworn that they may not leave it in no manner of wise.
That wot I well, said the king, but it shall so heavy me at their
departing that I wot well there shall no manner of joy remedy me. And
then the king and the queen went unto the minster. So anon Launcelot
and Gawaine commanded their men to bring their arms. And when they all
were armed save their shields and their helms, then they came to their
fellowship, which were all ready in the same wise, for to go to the
minster to hear their service. Then after the service was done the
king would wit how many had undertaken the quest of the Holy Grail;
and to account them he prayed them all. Then found they by tale an
hundred and fifty, and all were knights of the Round Table. And then
they put on their helms and departed, and recommended them all wholly
unto the queen: and there was weeping and great sorrow. Then the queen
departed into her chamber so that no man should apperceive her great
sorrows. When Sir Launcelot missed the queen he went into her chamber,
and when she saw him she cried aloud: O Sir Launcelot, ye have
betrayed me and put me to death, for to leave thus my lord. Ah, madam,
said Sir Launcelot, I pray you be not displeased, for I shall come as
soon as I may with my worship. Alas, said she, that ever I saw you;
but he that suffered death upon the cross for all mankind be to you
good conduct and safety, and all the whole fellowship. Right so
departed Sir Launcelot, and found his fellowship that abode his
coming. And so they mounted upon their horses and rode through the
streets of Camelot; and there was weeping of the rich and poor, and
the king turned away and might not speak for weeping. So within a
while they came to a city, and a castle that hight Vagon. There they
entered into the castle, and the lord of that castle was an old man
that hight Vagon, and he was a good man of his living, and set open
the gates, and made them all the good cheer that he might. And so on
the morrow they were all accorded that they should depart every each
from other; and then they departed on the morrow with weeping and
mourning cheer, and every knight took the way that him best liked.
CHAPTER IX
HOW GALAHAD GAT HIM A SHIELD, AND HOW THEY SPED THAT PRESUMED TO TAKE
DOWN THE SAID SHIELD
Now rideth Sir Galahad yet without shield, and so he rode four days
without any adventure. And at the fourth day after evensong he came to
a White Abbey, and there he was received with great reverence, and led
to a chamber, and there he was unarmed; and then was he ware of two
knights of the Round Table, one was King Bagdemagus, and that other
was Sir Uwaine. And when they saw him they went unto him and made of
him great solace, and so they went to supper. Sirs, said Sir Galahad,
what adventure brought you hither? Sir, said they, it is told us that
within this place is a shield that no man may bear about his neck but
if that he be mischieved or dead within three days, or else maimed for
ever. Ah sir, said King Bagdemagus, I shall it bear to-morrow for to
essay this strange adventure. In the name of God, said Sir Galahad.
Sir, said Bagdemagus, an I may not achieve the adventure of this
shield ye shall take it upon you, for I am sure ye shall not fail.
Sir, said Galahad, I agree right well thereto, for I have no shield.
So on the morn they arose and heard mass. Then King Bagdemagus asked
where the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind an altar
where the shield hung as white as any snow, but in the middes was a
red cross. Sir, said the monk, this shield ought not to be hanged
about no knight's neck but he be the worthiest knight of the world,
and therefore I counsel you knights to be well advised. Well, said
King Bagdemagus, I wot well that I am not the best knight of the
world, but yet shall I essay to bear it. And so he bare it out of the
monastery; and then he said unto Sir Galahad: If it will please you I
pray you abide here still, till ye know how I shall speed. I shall
abide you here, said Galahad. Then King Bagdemagus took with him a
squire, the which should bring tidings unto Sir Galahad how he sped.
Then when they had ridden a two mile and came in a fair valley afore
an hermitage, then they saw a goodly knight come from that part in
white armour, horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse might
run, with his spear in the rest, and King Bagdemagus dressed his spear
against him and brake it upon the white knight. But the other struck
him so hard that he brake the mails, and thrust him through the right
shoulder, for the shield covered him not as at that time; and so he
bare him from his horse. And therewith he alighted and took the white
shield from him, saying: Knight, thou hast done thyself great folly,
for this shield ought not to be borne but by him that shall have no
peer that liveth. And then he came to King Bagdemagus' squire and
said: Bear this shield unto the good knight Sir Galahad, that thou
left in the abbey, and greet him well from me. Sir, said the squire,
what is your name? Take thou no heed of my name, said the knight, for
it is not for thee to know nor for none earthly man. Now, fair sir,
said the squire, at the reverence of Jesu Christ, tell me for what
cause this shield may not be borne but if the bearer thereof be
mischieved. Now sith thou hast conjured me so, said the knight, this
shield behoveth unto no man but unto Galahad. And the squire went unto
Bagdemagus and asked whether he were sore wounded or not. Yea,
forsooth, said he, I shall escape hard from the death. Then he fetched
his horse, and brought him with great pain unto an abbey. Then was he
taken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and there was looked
to his wounds. And as the book telleth, he lay there long, and escaped
hard with the life.
CHAPTER X
HOW GALAHAD DEPARTED WITH THE SHIELD, AND HOW KING EVELAKE HAD
RECEIVED THE SHIELD OF JOSEPH OF ARAMATHIE
Sir Galahad, said the squire, that knight that wounded Bagdemagus
sendeth you greeting, and bad that ye should bear this shield,
wherethrough great adventures should befall. Now blessed be God and
fortune, said Galahad. And then he asked his arms, and mounted upon
his horse, and hung the white shield about his neck, and commended
them unto God. And Sir Uwaine said he would bear him fellowship if it
pleased him. Sir, said Galahad, that may ye not, for I must go alone,
save this squire shall bear me fellowship: and so departed Uwaine.
Then within a while came Galahad there as the white knight abode him
by the hermitage, and every each saluted other courteously. Sir, said
Galahad, by this shield be many marvels fallen? Sir, said the knight,
it befell after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ thirty-two year,
that Joseph of Aramathie, the gentle knight, the which took down our
Lord off the holy Cross, at that time he departed from Jerusalem with
a great party of his kindred with him. And so he laboured till that
they came to a city that hight Sarras. And at that same hour that
Joseph came to Sarras there was a king that hight Evelake, that had
great war against the Saracens, and in especial against one Saracen,
the which was King Evelake's cousin, a rich king and a mighty, which
marched nigh this land, and his name was called Tolleme la Feintes. So
on a day these two met to do battle. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph of
Aramathie, went to King Evelake and told him he should be discomfit
and slain, but if he left his belief of the old law and believed upon
the new law. And then there he shewed him the right belief of the Holy
Trinity, to the which he agreed unto with all his heart; and there
this shield was made for King Evelake, in the name of Him that died
upon the Cross. And then through his good belief he had the better of
King Tolleme. For when Evelake was in the battle there was a cloth set
afore the shield, and when he was in the greatest peril he let put
away the cloth, and then his enemies saw a figure of a man on the
Cross, wherethrough they all were discomfit. And so it befell that a
man of King Evelake's was smitten his hand off, and bare that hand in
his other hand; and Joseph called that man unto him and bade him go
with good devotion touch the Cross. And as soon as that man had
touched the Cross with his hand it was as whole as ever it was tofore.
Then soon after there fell a great marvel, that the cross of the
shield at one time vanished away that no man wist where it became. And
then King Evelake was baptised, and for the most part all the people
of that city. So, soon after Joseph would depart, and King Evelake
would go with him whether he would or nold. And so by fortune they
came into this land, that at that time was called Great Britain; and
there they found a great felon paynim, that put Joseph into prison.
And so by fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mondrames,
and he assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard of
Joseph; and so he came into the land of Great Britain and disinherited
this felon paynim and consumed him; and therewith delivered Joseph out
of prison. And after that all the people were turned to the Christian
faith.
CHAPTER XI
HOW JOSEPH MADE A CROSS ON THE WHITE SHIELD WITH HIS BLOOD, AND HOW
GALAHAD WAS BY A MONK BROUGHT TO A TOMB
Not long after that Joseph was laid in his deadly bed. And when King
Evelake saw that he made much sorrow, and said: For thy love I have
left my country, and sith ye shall depart out of this world, leave me
some token of yours that I may think on you. Joseph said: That will I
do full gladly; now bring me your shield that I took you when ye went
into battle against King Tolleme. Then Joseph bled sore at the nose,
so that he might not by no mean be staunched. And there upon that
shield he made a cross of his own blood. Now may ye see a remembrance
that I love you, for ye shall never see this shield but ye shall think
on me, and it shall be always as fresh as it is now. And never shall
man bear this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the
time that Galahad, the good knight, bare it; and the last of my
lineage shall have it about his neck, that shall do many marvellous
deeds. Now, said King Evelake, where shall I put this shield, that
this worthy knight may have it? Ye shall leave it there as Nacien, the
hermit, shall be put after his death; for thither shall that good
knight come the fifteenth day after that he shall receive the order of
knighthood: and so that day that they set is this time that he have
his shield, and in the same abbey lieth Nacien, the hermit. And then
the white knight vanished away. Anon as the squire had heard these
words, he alit off his hackney and kneeled down at Galahad's feet, and
prayed him that he might go with him till he had made him knight. If I
would not refuse you? Then will ye make me a knight? said the squire,
and that order, by the grace of God, shall be well set in me. So Sir
Galahad granted him, and turned again unto the abbey where they came
from; and there men made great joy of Sir Galahad. And anon as he was
alit there was a monk brought him unto a tomb in a churchyard, where
there was such a noise that who that heard it should verily nigh be
mad or lose his strength: and Sir, they said, we deem it is a fiend.
CHAPTER XII
OF THE MARVEL THAT SIR GALAHAD SAW AND HEARD IN THE TOMB; AND HOW HE
MADE MELIAS KNIGHT
Now lead me thither, said Galahad. And so they did, all armed save his
helm. Now, said the good man, go to the tomb and lift it up. So he
did, and heard a great noise; and piteously it said, that all men
might hear it: Sir Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ, come thou not
nigh me, for thou shalt make me go again there where I have been so
long. But Galahad was nothing afraid, but lifted up the stone; and
there came out so foul a smoke, and after he saw the foulest figure
leap thereout that ever he saw in the likeness of a man; and then he
blessed him and wist well it was a fiend. Then heard he a voice say:
Galahad, I see there environ about thee so many angels that my power
may not dare thee. Right so Sir Galahad saw a body all armed lie in
that tomb, and beside him a sword. Now, fair brother, said Galahad,
let us remove this body, for it is not worthy to lie in this
churchyard, for he was a false Christian man. And therewith they all
departed and went to the abbey. And anon as he was unarmed a good man
came and set him down by him and said: Sir, I shall tell you what
betokeneth all that ye saw in the tomb; for that covered body
betokeneth the duresse of the world, and the great sin that our Lord
found in the world. For there was such wretchedness that the father
loved not the son, nor the son loved not the father; and that was one
of the causes that our Lord took flesh and blood of a clene maiden,
for our sins were so great at that time that wellnigh all was
wickedness. Truly, said Galahad, I believe you right well. So Sir
Galahad rested him there that night; and upon the morn he made the
squire knight, and asked him his name, and of what kindred he was
come. Sir, said he, men calleth me Melias de Lile, and I am the son of
the king of Denmark. Now, fair sir, said Galahad, sith that ye be come
of kings and queens, now look that knighthood be well set in you, for
ye ought to be a mirror unto all chivalry. Sir, said Sir Melias, ye
say sooth. But, sir, sithen ye have made me a knight ye must of right
grant me my first desire that is reasonable. Ye say sooth, said
Galahad. Melias said: Then that ye will suffer me to ride with you in
this quest of the Sangreal, till that some adventure depart us. I
grant you, sir. Then men brought Sir Melias his armour and his spear
and his horse, and so Sir Galahad and he rode forth all that week or
they found any adventure. And then upon a Monday in the morning, as
they were departed from an abbey, they came to a cross which departed
two ways, and in that cross were letters written that said thus: Now,
ye knights errant, the which goeth to seek knights adventurous, see
here two ways; that one way defendeth thee that thou ne go that way,
for he shall not go out of the way again but if he be a good man and a
worthy knight; and if thou go on the left hand, thou shalt not lightly
there win prowess, for thou shalt in this way be soon essayed. Sir,
said Melias to Galahad, if it like you to suffer me to take the way on
the left hand, tell me, for there I shall well prove my strength. It
were better, said Galahad, ye rode not that way, for I deem I should
better escape in that way than ye. Nay, my lord, I pray you let me
have that adventure. Take it in God's name, said Galahad.
CHAPTER XIII
OF THE ADVENTURE THAT MELIAS HAD, AND HOW GALAHAD REVENGED HIM, AND
HOW MELIAS WAS CARRIED INTO AN ABBEY
And then rode Melias into an old forest, and therein he rode two days
and more. And then he came into a fair meadow, and there was a fair
lodge of boughs. And then he espied in that lodge a chair, wherein was
a crown of gold, subtily wrought. Also there were cloths covered upon
the earth, and many delicious meats set thereon. Sir Melias beheld
this adventure, and thought it marvellous, but he had no hunger, but
of the crown of gold he took much keep; and therewith he stooped down
and took it up, and rode his way with it. And anon he saw a knight
came riding after him that said: Knight, set down that crown which is
not yours, and therefore defend you. Then Sir Melias blessed him and
said: Fair lord of heaven, help and save thy new-made knight. And then
they let their horses run as fast as they might, so that the other
knight smote Sir Melias through hauberk and through the left side,
that he fell to the earth nigh dead. And then he took the crown and
went his way; and Sir Melias lay still and had no power to stir. In
the meanwhile by fortune there came Sir Galahad and found him there in
peril of death. And then he said: Ah, Melias, who hath wounded you?
therefore it had been better to have ridden the other way. And when
Sir Melias heard him speak: Sir, he said, for God's love let me not
die in this forest, but bear me unto the abbey here beside, that I may
be confessed and have my rights. It shall be done, said Galahad, but
where is he that hath wounded you? With that Sir Galahad heard in the
leaves cry on high: Knight, keep thee from me. Ah sir, said Melias,
beware, for that is he that hath slain me. Sir Galahad answered: Sir
knight, come on your peril. Then either dressed to other, and came
together as fast as their horses might run, and Galahad smote him so
that his spear went through his shoulder, and smote him down off his
horse, and in the falling Galahad's spear brake. With that came out
another knight out of the leaves, and brake a spear upon Galahad or
ever he might turn him. Then Galahad drew out his sword and smote off
the left arm of him, so that it fell to the earth. And then he fled,
and Sir Galahad pursued fast after him. And then he turned again unto
Sir Melias, and there he alit and dressed him softly on his horse
tofore him, for the truncheon of his spear was in his body; and Sir
Galahad start up behind him, and held him in his arms, and so brought
him to the abbey, and there unarmed him and brought him to his
chamber. And then he asked his Saviour. And when he had received Him
he said unto Sir Galahad: Sir, let death come when it pleaseth him.
And therewith he drew out the truncheon of the spear out of his body:
and then he swooned. Then came there an old monk which sometime had
been a knight, and beheld Sir Melias. And anon he ransacked him; and
then he said unto Sir Galahad: I shall heal him of his wound, by the
grace of God, within the term of seven weeks. Then was Sir Galahad
glad, and unarmed him, and said he would abide there three days. And
then he asked Sir Melias how it stood with him. Then he said he was
turned unto helping, God be thanked.
CHAPTER XIV
HOW SIR GALAHAD DEPARTED, AND HOW HE WAS COMMANDED TO GO TO THE CASTLE
OF MAIDENS TO DESTROY THE WICKED CUSTOM
Now will I depart, said Galahad, for I have much on hand, for many
good knights be full busy about it, and this knight and I were in the
same quest of the Sangreal. Sir, said the good man, for his sin he was
thus wounded; and I marvel, said the good man, how ye durst take upon
you so rich a thing as the high order of knighthood without clene
confession, and that was the cause ye were bitterly wounded. For the
way on the right hand betokeneth the highway of our Lord Jesu Christ,
and the way of a good true good liver. And the other way betokeneth
the way of sinners and of misbelievers. And when the devil saw your
pride and presumption, for to take you in the quest of the Sangreal,
that made you to be overthrown, for it may not be achieved but by
virtuous living. Also, the writing on the cross was a signification of
heavenly deeds, and of knightly deeds in God's works, and no knightly
deeds in worldly works. And pride is head of all deadly sins, that
caused this knight to depart from Galahad. And where thou tookest the
crown of gold thou sinnest in covetise and in theft: all this were no
knightly deeds. And this Galahad, the holy knight, the which fought
with the two knights, the two knights signify the two deadly sins
which were wholly in this knight Melias; and they might not withstand
you, for ye are without deadly sin. Now departed Galahad from thence,
and betaught them all unto God. Sir Melias said: My lord Galahad, as
soon as I may ride I shall seek you. God send you health, said
Galahad, and so took his horse and departed, and rode many journeys
forward and backward, as adventure would lead him. And at the last it
happened him to depart from a place or a castle the which was named
Abblasoure; and he had heard no mass, the which he was wont ever to
hear or ever he departed out of any castle or place, and kept that for
a custom. Then Sir Galahad came unto a mountain where he found an old
chapel, and found there nobody, for all, all was desolate; and there
he kneeled tofore the altar, and besought God of wholesome counsel. So
as he prayed he heard a voice that said: Go thou now, thou adventurous
knight, to the Castle of Maidens, and there do thou away the wicked
customs.
CHAPTER XV
HOW SIR GALAHAD FOUGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS OF THE CASTLE, AND DESTROYED
THE WICKED CUSTOM
When Sir Galahad heard this he thanked God, and took his horse; and he
had not ridden but half a mile, he saw in a valley afore him a strong
castle with deep ditches, and there ran beside it a fair river that
hight Severn; and there he met with a man of great age, and either
saluted other, and Galahad asked him the castle's name. Fair sir, said
he, it is the Castle of Maidens. That is a cursed castle, said
Galahad, and all they that be conversant therein, for all pity is out
thereof, and all hardiness and mischief is therein. Therefore, I
counsel you, sir knight, to turn again. Sir, said Galahad, wit you
well I shall not turn again. Then looked Sir Galahad on his arms that
nothing failed him, and then he put his shield afore him; and anon
there met him seven fair maidens, the which said unto him: Sir knight,
ye ride here in a great folly, for ye have the water to pass over. Why
should I not pass the water? said Galahad. So rode he away from them
and met with a squire that said: Knight, those knights in the castle
defy you, and defenden you ye go no further till that they wit what ye
would. Fair sir, said Galahad, I come for to destroy the wicked custom
of this castle. Sir, an ye will abide by that ye shall have enough to
do. Go you now, said Galahad, and haste my needs. Then the squire
entered into the castle. And anon after there came out of the castle
seven knights, and all were brethren. And when they saw Galahad they
cried: Knight, keep thee, for we assure thee nothing but death. Why,
said Galahad; will ye all have ado with me at once? Yea, said they,
thereto mayest thou trust. Then Galahad put forth his spear and smote
the foremost to the earth, that near he brake his neck. And
therewithal the other smote him on his shield great strokes, so that
their spears brake. Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set upon
them so hard that it was marvel to see it, and so through great force
he made them to forsake the field; and Galahad chased them till they
entered into the castle, and so passed through the castle at another
gate. And there met Sir Galahad an old man clothed in religious
clothing, and said; Sir, have here the keys of this castle. Then Sir
Galahad opened the gates, and saw so much people in the streets that
he might not number them, and all said: Sir, ye be welcome, for long
have we abiden here our deliverance. Then came to him a gentlewoman
and said: These knights be fled, but they will come again this night,
and here to begin again their evil custom. What will ye that I shall
do? said Galahad. Sir, said the gentlewoman, that ye send after all
the knights hither that hold their lands of this castle, and make them
to swear for to use the customs that were used heretofore of old time.
I will well, said Galahad. And there she brought him an horn of ivory,
bounden with gold richly, and said: Sir, blow this horn which will be
heard two mile about this castle. When Sir Galahad had blown the horn
he set him down upon a bed. Then came a priest to Galahad, and said:
Sir, it is past a seven year agone that these seven brethren came into
this castle, and harboured with the lord of this castle, that hight
the Duke Lianour, and he was lord of all this country. And when they
espied the duke's daughter, that was a full fair woman, then by their
false covin they made debate betwixt themself, and the duke of his
goodness would have departed them, and there they slew him and his
eldest son. And then they took the maiden and the treasure of the
castle. And then by great force they held all the knights of this
castle against their will under their obeisance, and in great service
and truage, robbing and pillaging the poor common people of all that
they had. So it happened on a day the duke's daughter said: Ye have
done unto me great wrong to slay mine own father, and my brother, and
thus to hold our lands: not for then, she said, ye shall not hold this
castle for many years, for by one knight ye shall be overcome. Thus
she prophesied seven years agone. Well, said the seven knights, sithen
ye say so, there shall never lady nor knight pass this castle but they
shall abide maugre their heads, or die therefor, till that knight be
come by whom we shall lose this castle. And therefore is it called the
Maidens' Castle, for they have devoured many maidens. Now, said
Galahad, is she here for whom this castle was lost? Nay sir, said the
priest, she was dead within these three nights after that she was thus
enforced; and sithen have they kept her younger sister, which endureth
great pains with more other ladies. By this were the knights of the
country come, and then he made them do homage and fealty to the king's
daughter, and set them in great ease of heart. And in the morn there
came one to Galahad and told him how that Gawaine, Gareth, and Uwaine,
had slain the seven brethren. I suppose well, said Sir Galahad, and
took his armour and his horse, and commended them unto God.
CHAPTER XVI
HOW SIR GAWAINE CAME TO THE ABBEY FOR TO FOLLOW GALAHAD, AND HOW HE
WAS SHRIVEN TO A HERMIT
Now, saith the tale, after Sir Gawaine departed, he rode many
journeys, both toward and froward. And at the last he came to the
abbey where Sir Galahad had the white shield, and there Sir Gawaine
learned the way to sewe after Sir Galahad; and so he rode to the abbey
where Melias lay sick, and there Sir Melias told Sir Gawaine of the
marvellous adventures that Sir Galahad did. Certes, said Sir Gawaine,
I am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for an I may meet
with him I will not depart from him lightly, for all marvellous
adventures that Sir Galahad achieveth. Sir, said one of the monks, he
will not of your fellowship. Why? said Sir Gawaine. Sir, said he, for
ye be wicked and sinful, and he is full blessed. Right as they thus
stood talking there came in riding Sir Gareth. And then they made joy
either of other. And on the morn they heard mass, and so departed. And
by the way they met with Sir Uwaine les Avoutres, and there Sir Uwaine
told Sir Gawaine how he had met with none adventure sith he departed
from the court. Nor we, said Sir Gawaine. And either promised other of
the three knights not to depart while they were in that quest, but if
fortune caused it. So they departed and rode by fortune till that they
came by the Castle of Maidens; and there the seven brethren espied the
three knights, and said: Sithen, we be flemyd by one knight from this
castle, we shall destroy all the knights of King Arthur's that we may
overcome, for the love of Sir Galahad. And therewith the seven knights
set upon the three knights, and by fortune Sir Gawaine slew one of the
brethren, and each one of his fellows slew another, and so slew the
remnant. And then they took the way under the castle, and there they
lost the way that Sir Galahad rode, and there every each of them
departed from other; and Sir Gawaine rode till he came to an
hermitage, and there he found the good man saying his evensong of Our
Lady; and there Sir Gawaine asked harbour for charity, and the good
man granted it him gladly. Then the good man asked him what he was.
Sir, he said, I am a knight of King Arthur's that am in the quest of
the Sangreal, and my name is Sir Gawaine. Sir, said the good man, I
would wit how it standeth betwixt God and you. Sir, said Sir Gawaine,
I will with a good will shew you my life if it please you; and there
he told the hermit How a monk of an abbey called me wicked knight. He
might well say it, said the hermit, for when ye were first made knight
you should have taken you to knightly deeds and virtuous living, and
ye have done the contrary, for ye have lived mischievously many
winters; and Sir Galahad is a maid and sinner never, and that is the
cause he shall achieve where he goeth that ye nor none such shall not
attain, nor none in your fellowship, for ye have used the most
untruest life that ever I heard knight live. For certes had ye not
been so wicked as ye are, never had the seven brethren been slain by
you and your two fellows. For Sir Galahad himself alone beat them all
seven the day tofore, but his living is such he shall slay no man
lightly. Also I may say you the Castle of Maidens betokeneth the good
souls that were in prison afore the Incarnation of Jesu Christ. And
the seven knights betoken the seven deadly sins that reigned that time
in the world; and I may liken the good Galahad unto the son of the
High Father, that light within a maid, and bought all the souls out of
thrall: so did Sir Galahad deliver all the maidens out of the woful
castle. Now, Sir Gawaine, said the good man, thou must do penance for
thy sin. Sir, what penance shall I do? Such as I will give, said the
good man. Nay, said Sir Gawaine, I may do no penance; for we knights
adventurous oft suffer great woe and pain. Well, said the good man,
and then he held his peace. And on the morn Sir Gawaine departed from
the hermit, and betaught him unto God. And by adventure he met with
Sir Aglovale and Sir Griflet, two knights of the Table Round. And they
two rode four days without finding of any adventure, and at the fifth
day they departed. And every each held as befel them by adventure.
Here leaveth the tale o£ Sir Gawaine and his fellows, and speak we of
Sir Galahad.
CHAPTER XVII
HOW SIR GALAHAD MET WITH SIR LAUNCELOT AND SIR PERCIVALE, AND SMOTE
THEM DOWN, AND DEPARTED FROM THEM
So when Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle o£ Maidens he rode
till he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Launcelot
and Sir Percivale, but they knew him not, for he was new disguised.
Right so Sir Launcelot, his father, dressed his spear and brake it
upon Sir Galahad, and Galahad smote him so again that he smote down
horse and man. And then he drew his sword, and dressed him unto Sir
Percivale, and smote him so on the helm, that it rove to the coif of
steel; and had not the sword swerved Sir Percivale had been slain, and
with the stroke he fell out of his saddle. This jousts was done tofore
the hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir Galahad
ride, she said: God be with thee, best knight of the world. Ah certes,
said she, all aloud that Launcelot and Percivale might hear it: An
yonder two knights had known thee as well as I do they would not have
encountered with thee. When Sir Galahad heard her say so he was adread
to be known: therewith he smote his horse with his spurs and rode a
great pace froward them. Then perceived they both that he was Galahad;
and up they gat on their horses, and rode fast after him, but in a
while he was out of their sight. And then they turned again with heavy
cheer. Let us spere some tidings, said Percivale, at yonder recluse.
Do as ye list, said Sir Launcelot. When Sir Percivale came to the
recluse she knew him well enough, and Sir Launcelot both. But Sir
Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no
path but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stony
cross which departed two ways in waste land; and by the cross was a
stone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Launcelot might
not wit what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and saw an old
chapel, and there he weened to have found people; and Sir Launcelot
tied his horse till a tree, and there he did off his shield and hung
it upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel door, and found it
waste and broken. And within he found a fair altar, full richly
arrayed with cloth of clene silk, and there stood a fair clean
candlestick, which bare six great candles, and the candlestick was of
silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light he had great will for to
enter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he might
enter; then was he passing heavy and dismayed. Then he returned and
came to his horse and did off his saddle and bridle, and let him
pasture, and unlaced his helm, and ungirt his sword, and laid him down
to sleep upon his shield tofore the cross.
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT, HALF SLEEPING AND HALF WAKING, SAW A SICK MAN BORNE
IN A LITTER, AND HOW HE WAS HEALED WITH THE SANGREAL
And so he fell on sleep; and half waking and sleeping he saw come by
him two palfreys all fair and white, the which bare a litter, therein
lying a sick knight. And when he was nigh the cross he there abode
still. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for he slept not verily;
and he heard him say: O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me?
and when shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I shall be
blessed? For I have endured thus long, for little trespass. A full
great while complained the knight thus, and always Sir Launcelot heard
it. With that Sir Launcelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers
come before the cross, and he saw nobody that brought it. Also there
came a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sangreal, which
Launcelot had seen aforetime in King Pescheour's house. And therewith
the sick knight set him up, and held up both his hands, and said: Fair
sweet Lord, which is here within this holy vessel; take heed unto me
that I may be whole of this malady. And therewith on his hands and on
his knees he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed
it, and anon he was whole; and then he said: Lord God, I thank thee,
for I am healed of this sickness. So when the holy vessel had been
there a great while it went unto the chapel with the chandelier and
the light, so that Launcelot wist not where it was become; for he was
overtaken with sin that he had no power to rise ageyne the holy
vessel; wherefore after that many men said of him shame, but he took
repentance after that. Then the sick knight dressed him up and kissed
the cross; anon his squire brought him his arms, and asked his lord
how he did. Certes, said he, I thank God right well, through the holy
vessel I am healed. But I have marvel of this sleeping knight that had
no power to awake when this holy vessel was brought hither. I dare
right well say, said the squire, that he dwelleth in some deadly sin
whereof he was never confessed. By my faith, said the knight,
whatsomever he be he is unhappy, for as I deem he is of the fellowship
of the Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of the
Sangreal. Sir, said the squire, here I have brought you all your arms
save your helm and your sword, and therefore by mine assent now may ye
take this knight's helm and his sword: and so he did. And when he was
clene armed he took Sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better than his;
and so departed they from the Cross.
CHAPTER XIX
HOW A VOICE SPAKE TO SIR LAUNCELOT, AND HOW HE FOUND HIS HORSE AND HIS
HELM BORNE AWAY, AND AFTER WENT AFOOT
Then anon Sir Launcelot waked, and set him up, and bethought him what
he had seen there, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heard
he a voice that said: Sir Launcelot, more harder than is the stone,
and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is the
leaf of the fig tree; therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee
from this holy place. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he was passing
heavy and wist not what to do, and so departed sore weeping, and
cursed the time that he was born. For then he deemed never to have had
worship more. For those words went to his heart, till that he knew
wherefore he was called so. Then Sir Launcelot went to the cross and
found his helm, his sword, and his horse taken away. And then he
called himself a very wretch, and most unhappy of all knights; and
there he said: My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto great
dishonour. For when I sought worldly adventures for worldly desires, I
ever achieved them and had the better in every place, and never was I
discomfit in no quarrel, were it right or wrong. And now I take upon
me the adventures of holy things, and now I see and understand that
mine old sin hindereth me and shameth me, so that I had no power to
stir nor speak when the holy blood appeared afore me. So thus lie
sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls sing: then somewhat he
was comforted. But when Sir Launcelot missed his horse and his harness
then he wist well God was displeased with him. Then he departed from
the cross on foot into a forest; and so by prime he came to an high
hill, and found an hermitage and a hermit therein which was going unto
mass. And then Launcelot kneeled down and cried on Our Lord mercy for
his wicked works. So when mass was done Launcelot called him, and
prayed him for charity for to hear his life. With a good will, said
the good man. Sir, said he, be ye of King Arthur's court and of the
fellowship of the Round Table? Yea forsooth, and my name is Sir
Launcelot du Lake that hath been right well said of, and now my good
fortune is changed, for I am the most wretch of the world. The hermit
beheld him and had marvel how he was so abashed. Sir, said the hermit,
ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath caused
you to have more worldly worship than any knight that now liveth. And
for your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be in His
presence, where His flesh and His blood was, that caused you ye might
not see it with worldly eyes; for He will not appear where such
sinners be, but if it be unto their great hurt and unto their great
shame; and there is no knight living now that ought to give God so
great thank as ye, for He hath given you beauty, seemliness, and great
strength above all other knights; and therefore ye are the more
beholding unto God than any other man, to love Him and dread Him, for
your strength and manhood will little avail you an God be against you.
CHAPTER XX
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT WAS SHRIVEN, AND WHAT SORROW HE MADE, AND OF THE
GOOD ENSAMPLES WHICH WERE SHEWED HIM
Then Sir Launcelot wept with heavy cheer, and said: Now I know well ye
say me sooth. Sir, said the good man, hide none old sin from me.
Truly, said Sir Launcelot, that were me full loth to discover. For
this fourteen year I never discovered one thing that I have used, and
that may I now wyte my shame and my misadventure. And then he told
there that good man all his life. And how he had loved a queen
immeasurably and out of measure long. And all my great deeds of arms
that I have done, I did for the most part for the queen's sake, and
for her sake would I do battle were it right or wrong; and never did I
battle all only for God's sake, but for to win worship and to cause me
to be the better beloved, and little or nought I thanked God of it.
Then Sir Launcelot said: I pray you counsel me. I will counsel you,
said the hermit, if ye will ensure me that ye will never come in that
queen's fellowship as much as ye may forbear. And then Sir Launcelot
promised him he nold, by the faith of his body. Look that your heart
and your mouth accord, said the good man, and I shall ensure you ye
shall have more worship than ever ye had. Holy father, said Sir
Launcelot, I marvel of the voice that said to me marvellous words, as
ye have heard toforehand. Have ye no marvel, said the good man,
thereof, for it seemeth well God loveth you; for men may understand a
stone is hard of kind, and namely one more than another; and that is
to understand by thee, Sir Launcelot, for thou wilt not leave thy sin
for no goodness that God hath sent thee; therefore thou art more than
any stone, and never wouldst thou be made neysshe nor by water nor by
fire, and that is the hete of the Holy Ghost may not enter in thee,
Now take heed, in all the world men shall not find one knight to whom
Our Lord hath given so much of grace as He hath given you, for He hath
given you fairness with seemliness, He hath given thee wit, discretion
to know good from evil. He hath given thee prowess and hardiness, and
given thee to work so largely that thou hast had at all days the
better wheresomever thou came; and now Our Lord will suffer thee no
longer, but that thou shalt know Him whether thou wilt or nylt. And
why the voice called thee bitterer than wood, for where overmuch sin
dwelleth, there may be but little sweetness, wherefore thou art
likened to an old rotten tree. Now have I shewed thee why thou art
harder than the stone and bitterer than the tree. Now shall I shew
thee why thou art more naked and barer than the fig tree. It befel
that Our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in Jerusalem, and there He found
in the people that all hardness was harboured in them, and there He
found in all the town not one that would harbour him. And then He went
without the town, and found in the middes of the way a fig tree, the
which was right fair and well garnished of leaves, but fruit had it
none. Then Our Lord cursed the tree that bare no fruit; that
betokeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem, that had leaves and no fruit.
So thou, Sir Launcelot, when the Holy Grail was brought afore thee, He
found in thee no fruit, nor good thought nor good will, and defouled
with lechery. Certes, said Sir Launcelot, all that you have said is
true, and from henceforward I cast me, by the grace of God, never to
be so wicked as I have been, but as to follow knighthood and to do
feats of arms. Then the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot such penance
as he might do and to pursue knighthood, and so assoiled him, and
prayed Sir Launcelot to abide with him all that day. I will well, said
Sir Launcelot, for I have neither helm, nor horse, nor sword. As for
that, said the good man, I shall help you or tomorn at even of an
horse, and all that longed unto you. And then Sir Launcelot repented
him greatly.
_Here leaveth of the history of syr launcelot. And here followeth of
sir Percyvale de galys which is the xiiii book_.
THE FOURTEENTH BOOK
CHAPTER I
HOW SIR PERCIVALE CAME TO A RECLUSE AND ASKED COUNSEL, AND HOW SHE
TOLD HIM THAT SHE WAS HIS AUNT
Now saith the tale, that when Sir Launcelot was ridden after Sir
Galahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percivale
turned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that
knight that Launcelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and
the recluse opened it and asked Sir Percivale what he would. Madam, he
said, I am a knight of King Arthur's court, and my name is Sir
Percivale de Galis. When the recluse heard his name she had great joy
of him, for mickle she had loved him tofore any other knight, for she
ought to do so, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gates
to be opened, and there he had all the cheer that she might make him,
and all that was in her power was at his commandment. So on the morn
Sir Percivale went to the recluse and asked her if she knew that
knight with the white shield. Sir, said she, why would ye wit? Truly,
madam, said Sir Percivale, I shall never be well at ease till that I
know of that knight's fellowship, and that I may fight with him, for I
may not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame yet. Ah, Percivale,
said she, would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great will to be
slain as your father was through outrageousness. Madam, said Sir
Percivale, it seemeth by your words that ye know me. Yea, said she, I
well ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a priory
place. For some called me sometime the queen of the Waste Lands, and I
was called the queen of most riches in the world; and it pleased me
never my riches so much as doth my poverty. Then Sir Percivale wept
for very pity when that he knew it was his aunt. Ah, fair nephew, said
she, when heard ye tidings of your mother? Truly, said he, I heard
none of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep; and therefore I wot
not whether she be dead or on live. Certes, fair nephew, said she,
your mother is dead, for after your departing from her she took such a
sorrow that anon, after she was confessed, she died. Now, God have
mercy on her soul, said Sir Percivale, it sore forthinketh me; but all
we must change the life. Now, fair aunt, tell me what is the knight? I
deem it be he that bare the red arms on Whitsunday. Wit you well, said
she, that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do, but to go in
red arms; and that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all by
miracle, and he shall never be overcome of none earthly man's hand.
CHAPTER II
HOW MERLIN LIKENED THE ROUND TABLE TO THE WORLD, AND HOW THE KNIGHTS
THAT SHOULD ACHIEVE THE SANGREAL SHOULD BE KNOWN
Also Merlin made the Round Table in tokening of roundness of the
world, for by the Round Table is the world signified by right, for all
the world, Christian and heathen, repair unto the Round Table; and
when they are chosen to be of the fellowship of the Round Table they
think them more blessed and more in worship than if they had gotten
half the world; and ye have seen that they have lost their fathers and
their mothers, and all their kin, and their wives and their children,
for to be of your fellowship. It is well seen by you; for since ye
have departed from your mother ye would never see her, ye found such
fellowship at the Round Table. When Merlin had ordained the Round
Table he said, by them which should be fellows of the Round Table the
truth of the Sangreal should be well known. And men asked him how men
might know them that should best do and to achieve the Sangreal? Then
he said there should be three white bulls that should achieve it, and
the two should be maidens, and the third should be chaste. And that
one of the three should pass his father as much as the lion passeth
the leopard, both of strength and hardiness. They that heard Merlin
say so said thus unto Merlin: Sithen there shall be such a knight,
thou shouldest ordain by thy crafts a siege, that no man should sit in
it but he all only that shall pass all other knights. Then Merlin
answered that he would do so. And then he made the Siege Perilous, in
the which Galahad sat in at his meat on Whitsunday last past. Now,
madam, said Sir Percivale, so much have I heard of you that by my good
will I will never have ado with Sir Galahad but by way of kindness;
and for God's love, fair aunt, can ye teach me some way where I may
find him? for much would I love the fellowship of him. Fair nephew,
said she, ye must ride unto a castle the which is called Goothe, where
he hath a cousin-germain, and there may ye be lodged this night. And
as he teacheth you, pursue after as fast as ye can; and if he can tell
you no tidings of him, ride straight unto the Castle of Carbonek,
where the maimed king is there lying, for there shall ye hear true
tidings of him.
CHAPTER III
HOW SIR PERCIVALE CAME INTO A MONASTERY, WHERE HE FOUND KING EVELAKE,
WHICH WAS AN OLD MAN
Then departed Sir Percivale from his aunt, either making great sorrow.
And so he rode till evensong time. And then he heard a clock smite;
and then he was ware of an house closed well with walls and deep
ditches, and there he knocked at the gate and was let in, and he alit
and was led unto a chamber, and soon he was unarmed. And there he had
right good cheer all that night; and on the morn he heard his mass,
and in the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar. And on the
right side he saw a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar he saw
a rich bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold. Then Sir
Percivale espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the visage was
covered; then he left off his looking and heard his service. And when
it came to the sacring, he that lay within that percloos dressed him
up, and uncovered his head; and then him beseemed a passing old man,
and he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders were naked
and unhilled unto his navel. And then Sir Percivale espied his body
was full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and visage. And
ever he held up his hands against our Lord's body, and cried: Fair,
sweet Father, Jesu Christ, forget not me. And so he lay down, but
always he was in his prayers and orisons; and him seemed to be of the
age of three hundred winter. And when the mass was done the priest
took Our Lord's body and bare it to the sick king. And when he had
used it he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on the
altar. Then Sir Percivale asked one of the brethren what he was. Sir,
said the good man, ye have heard much of Joseph of Aramathie, how he
was sent by Jesu Christ into this land for to teach and preach the
holy Christian faith; and therefore he suffered many persecutions the
which the enemies of Christ did unto him, and in the city of Sarras he
converted a king whose name was Evelake. And so this king came with
Joseph into this land, and ever he was busy to be thereas the Sangreal
was; and on a time be nighed it so nigh that Our Lord was displeased
with him, but ever he followed it more and more, till God struck him
almost blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said: Fair Lord, let me
never die till the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be
come, that I may see him openly that he shall achieve the Sangreal,
that I may kiss him.
CHAPTER IV
HOW SIR PERCIVALE SAW MANY MEN OF ARMS BEARING A DEAD KNIGHT, AND HOW
HE FOUGHT AGAINST THEM
When the king thus had made his prayers he heard a voice that said:
Heard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he have kissed thee.
And when that knight shall come the clearness of your eyes shall come
again, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed, and
erst shall they never close. And this befel of King Evelake, and this
same king hath lived this three hundred winter this holy life, and men
say the knight is in the court that shall heal him. Sir, said the good
man, I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of King
Arthur's court and of the Table Round. Yea, forsooth, said he, and my
name is Sir Percivale de Galis. And when the good man understood his
name he made great joy of him. And then Sir Percivale departed and
rode till the hour of noon. And he met in a valley about a twenty men
of arms, which bare in a bier a knight deadly slain. And when they saw
Sir Percivale they asked him of whence he was. And he answered: Of the
court of King Arthur. Then they cried all at once: Slay him. Then Sir
Percivale smote the first to the earth and his horse upon him. And
then seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and the
remnant slew his horse so that he fell to the earth. So had they slain
him or taken him had not the good knight, Sir Galahad, with the red
arms come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw all
those knights upon one knight he cried: Save me that knight's life.
And then he dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his
horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremost
horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his
hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand
that it was marvel to see, and at every stroke he smote one down or
put him to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more but fled to a
thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percivale
saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was away.
And then he wist well it was Sir Galahad. And then he cried aloud: Ah,
fair knight, abide and suffer me to do thankings unto thee, for much
have ye done for me. But ever Sir Galahad rode so fast that at the
last he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir Percivale might he
went after him on foot, crying. And then he met with a yeoman riding
upon an hackney, the which led in his hand a great steed blacker than
any bear. Ah, fair friend, said Sir Percivale, as ever I may do for
you, and to be your true knight in the first place ye will require me,
that ye will lend me that black steed, that I might overtake a knight
the which rideth afore me. Sir knight, said the yeoman, I pray you
hold me excused of that, for that I may not do. For wit ye well, the
horse is such a man's horse, that an I lent it you or any man, that he
would slay me. Alas, said Sir Percivale, I had never so great sorrow
as I have had for losing of yonder knight. Sir, said the yeoman, I am
right heavy for you, for a good horse would beseem you well; but I
dare not deliver you this horse but if ye would take him from me. That
will I not do, said Sir Percivale. And so they departed; and Sir
Percivale set him down under a tree, and made sorrow out of measure.
And as he was there, there came a knight riding on the horse that the
yeoman led, and he was clene armed.
CHAPTER V
HOW A YEOMAN DESIRED HIM TO GET AGAIN AN HORSE AND HOW SIR PERCIVALE'S
HACKNEY WAS SLAIN, AND HOW HE GAT AN HORSE
And anon the yeoman came pricking after as fast as ever he might, and
asked Sir Percivale if he saw any knight riding on his black steed.
Yea, sir forsooth, said he; why, sir, ask ye me that? Ah, sir, that
steed he hath benome me with strength; wherefor my lord will slay me
in what place he findeth me. Well, said Sir Percivale, what wouldst
thou that I did? Thou seest well that I am on foot, but an I had a
good horse I should bring him soon again. Sir, said the yeoman, take
mine hackney and do the best ye can, and I shall serve you on foot to
wit how that ye shall speed. Then Sir Percivale alit upon that
hackney, and rode as fast as he might, and at the last he saw that
knight And then he cried: Knight, turn again; and he turned and set
his spear again Sir Percivale, and he smote the hackney in the middes
of the breast that he fell down dead to the earth, and there he had a
great fall, and the other rode his way. And then Sir Percivale was
wood worth, and cried: Abide, wicked knight; coward and false-hearted
knight, turn again and fight with me on foot. But he answered not, but
passed on his way. When Sir Percivale saw he would not turn he cast
away his helm and sword, and said: Now am I a very wretch, cursed and
most unhappy above all other knights. So in this sorrow he abode all
that day till it was night; and then he was faint, and laid him down
and slept till it was midnight; and then he awakened and saw afore him
a woman which said unto him right fiercely: Sir Percivale, what dost
thou here? He answered, I do neither good nor great ill. If thou wilt
ensure me, said she, that thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee,
I shall lend thee mine own horse which shall bear thee whither thou
wilt. Sir Percivale was glad of her proffer, and ensured her to fulfil
all her desire. Then abide me here, and I shall go and fetch you an
horse. And so she came soon again and brought an horse with her that
was inly black. When Percivale beheld that horse he marvelled that it
was so great and so well apparelled; and not for then he was so hardy,
and he leapt upon him, and took none heed of himself. And so anon as
he was upon him he thrust to him with his spurs, and so he rode by a
forest, and the moon shone clear. And within an hour and less he bare
him four days' journey thence, until he came to a rough water the
which roared, and his horse would have borne him into it.
CHAPTER VI
OF THE GREAT DANGER THAT SIR PERCIVALE WAS IN BY HIS HORSE, AND HOW HE
SAW A SERPENT AND A LION FIGHT
And when Sir Percivale came nigh the brim, and saw the water so
boistous, he doubted to overpass it. And then he made a sign of the
cross on his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged he shook off
Sir Percivale, and he went into the water crying and roaring, making
great sorrow, and it seemed unto him that the water brent. Then Sir
Percivale perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought him
unto his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed Our
Lord to keep him from all such temptations; and so he prayed all that
night till on the morn that it was day; then he saw that he was in a
wild mountain the which was closed with the sea nigh all about, that
he might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wild
beasts. And then he went into a valley, and there he saw a young
serpent bring a young lion by the neck, and so he came by Sir
Percivale. With that came a great lion crying and roaring after the
serpent. And as fast as Sir Percivale saw this he marvelled, and hied
him thither, but anon the lion had overtaken the serpent and began
battle with him. And then Sir Percivale thought to help the lion for
he was the more natural beast of the two; and therewith he drew his
sword, and set his shield afore him, and there he gave the serpent
such a buffet that he had a deadly wound. When the lion saw that, he
made no resemblant to fight with him, but made him all the cheer that
a beast might make a man. Then Percivale perceived that, and cast down
his shield which was broken; and then he did off his helm for to
gather wind, for he was greatly enchafed with the serpent: and the
lion went alway about him fawning as a spaniel. And then he stroked
him on the neck and on the shoulders. And then he thanked God of the
fellowship of that beast. And about noon the lion took his little
whelp and trussed him and bare him there he came from. Then was Sir
Percivale alone. And as the tale telleth, he was one of the men of the
world at that time which most believed in our Lord Jesu Christ, for in
those days there were but few folks that believed in God perfectly.
For in those days the son spared not the father no more than a
stranger. And so Sir Percivale comforted himself in our Lord Jesu, and
besought God no temptation should bring him out of God's service, but
to endure as his true champion. Thus when Sir Percivale had prayed he
saw the lion come toward him, and then he couched down at his feet.
And so all that night the lion and he slept together; and when Sir
Percivale slept he dreamed a marvellous dream, that there two ladies
met with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon a
serpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old; and
the youngest him thought said: Sir Percivale, my lord saluteth thee,
and sendeth thee word that thou array thee and make thee ready, for
tomorn thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. And
if thou be overcome thou shalt not be quit for losing of any of thy
members, but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world's end. And
then he asked her what was her lord. And she said the greatest lord of
all the world: and so she departed suddenly that he wist not where.
CHAPTER VII
OF THE VISION THAT SIR PERCIVALE SAW, AND HOW HIS VISION WAS
EXPOUNDED, AND OF HIS LION
Then came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent, and she
said: Sir Percivale, I complain me of you that ye have done unto me,
and have not offended unto you. Certes, madam, he said, unto you nor
no lady I never offended. Yes, said she, I shall tell you why. I have
nourished in this place a great while a serpent, which served me a
great while, and yesterday ye slew him as he gat his prey. Say me for
what cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours. Madam, said Sir
Percivale, I know well the lion was not mine, but I did it for the
lion is of more gentler nature than the serpent, and therefore I slew
him; meseemeth I did not amiss against you. Madam, said he, what would
ye that I did? I would, said she, for the amends of my beast that ye
become my man. And then he answered: That will I not grant you. No,
said she, truly ye were never but my servant syn ye received the
homage of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore, I ensure you in what place
I may find you without keeping I shall take you as he that sometime
was my man. And so she departed from Sir Percivale and left him
sleeping, the which was sore travailed of his advision. And on the
morn he arose and blessed him, and he was passing feeble. Then was Sir
Percivale ware in the sea, and saw a ship come sailing toward him; and
Sir Percivale went unto the ship and found it covered within and
without with white samite. And at the board stood an old man clothed
in a surplice, in likeness of a priest. Sir, said Sir Percivale, ye be
welcome. God keep you, said the good man. Sir, said the old man, of
whence be ye? Sir, said Sir Percivale, I am of King Arthur's court,
and a knight of the Table Round, the which am in the quest of the
Sangreal; and here am I in great duresse, and never like to escape out
of this wilderness. Doubt not, said the good man, an ye be so true a
knight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought to
be, ye should not doubt that none enemy should slay you. What are ye?
said Sir Percivale. Sir, said the old man, I am of a strange country,
and hither I come to comfort you. Sir, said Sir Percivale, what
signifieth my dream that I dreamed this night? And there he told him
altogether: She which rode upon the lion betokeneth the new law of
holy church, that is to understand, faith, good hope, belief, and
baptism. For she seemed younger than the other it is great reason, for
she was born in the resurrection and the passion of our Lord Jesu
Christ. And for great love she came to thee to warn thee of thy great
battle that shall befall thee. With whom, said Sir Percivale, shall I
fight? With the most champion of the world, said the old man; for as
the lady said, but if thou quit thee well thou shalt not be quit by
losing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to the world's end. And
she that rode on the serpent signifieth the old law, and that serpent
betokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that thou slewest her
servant, it betokeneth nothing; the serpent that thou slewest
betokeneth the devil that thou rodest upon to the rock. And when thou
madest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him, and put away his
power. And when she asked thee amends and to become her man, and thou
saidst thou wouldst not, that was to make thee to believe on her and
leave thy baptism. So he commanded Sir Percivale to depart, and so he
leapt over the board and the ship, and all went away he wist not
whither. Then he went up unto the rock and found the lion which always
kept him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back and had great
joy of him.
CHAPTER VIII
HOW SIR PERCIVALE SAW A SHIP COMING TO HIM-WARD, AND HOW THE LADY OF
THE SHIP TOLD HIM OF HER DISHERITANCE
By that Sir Percivale had abiden there till mid-day he saw a ship came
rowing in the sea as all the wind of the world had driven it. And so
it drove under that rock. And when Sir Percivale saw this he hied him
thither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than any
bear, and therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was
clothed richly that none might be better. And when she saw Sir
Percivale she said: Who brought you in this wilderness where ye be
never like to pass hence, for ye shall die here for hunger and
mischief? Damosel, said Sir Percivale, I serve the best man of the
world, and in his service he will not suffer me to die, for who that
knocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who that
seeketh him he hideth him not. But then she said: Sir Percivale, wot
ye what I am? Yea, said he. Now who taught you my name? said she. Now,
said Sir Percivale, I know you better than ye ween. And I came out of
the waste forest where I found the red knight with the white shield,
said the damosel. Ah, damosel, said he, with that knight would I meet
passing fain. Sir knight, said she, an ye will ensure me by the faith
that ye owe unto knighthood that ye shall do my will what time I
summon you, and I shall bring you unto that knight. Yea, said he, I
shall promise you to fulfil your desire. Well, said she, now shall I
tell you. I saw him in the forest chasing two knights unto a water,
the which is called Mortaise; and they drove him into that water for
dread of death, and the two knights passed over, and the red knight
passed after, and there his horse was drenched, and he, through great
strength, escaped unto the land: thus she told him, and Sir Percivale
was passing glad thereof. Then she asked him if he had ate any meat
late. Nay, madam, truly I ate no meat nigh this three days, but late
here I spake with a good man that fed me with his good words and holy,
and refreshed me greatly. Ah, sir knight, said she, that same man is
an enchanter and a multiplier of words. For an ye believe him ye shall
plainly be shamed, and die in this rock for pure hunger, and be eaten
with wild beasts; and ye be a young man and a goodly knight, and I
shall help you an ye will. What are ye, said Sir Percivale, that
proffered me thus great kindness? I am, said she, a gentlewoman that
am disherited, which was sometime the richest woman of the world.
Damosel, said Sir Percivale, who hath disherited you? for I have great
pity of you. Sir, said she, I dwelled with the greatest man of the
world, and he made me so fair and clear that there was none like me;
and of that great beauty I had a little pride more than I ought to
have had. Also I said a word that pleased him not. And then he would
not suffer me to be any longer in his company, and so drove me from
mine heritage, and so disherited me, and he had never pity of me nor
of none of my council, nor of my court. And sithen, sir knight, it
hath befallen me so, and through me and mine I have benome him many of
his men, and made them to become my men. For they ask never nothing of
me but I give it them, that and much more. Thus I and all my servants
were against him night and day. Therefore I know now no good knight,
nor no good man, but I get them on my side an I may. And for that I
know that thou art a good knight, I beseech you to help me; and for ye
be a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye ought not to fail no
gentlewoman which is disherited, an she besought you of help.
CHAPTER IX
HOW SIR PERCIVALE PROMISED HER HELP, AND HOW HE REQUIRED HER OF LOVE,
AND HOW HE WAS SAVED FROM THE FIEND
Then Sir Percivale promised her all the help that he might; and then
she thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot. Then she called
unto her a gentlewoman and bad her bring forth a pavilion; and so she
did, and pyght it upon the gravel. Sir, said she, now may ye rest you
in this heat of the day. Then he thanked her, and she put off his helm
and his shield, and there he slept a great while. And then he awoke
and asked her if she had any meat, and she said: Yea, also ye shall
have enough. And so there was set enough upon the table, and thereon
so much that he had marvel, for there was all manner of meats that he
could think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he
drank, him thought, and therewith he was a little chafed more than he
ought to be; with that he beheld the gentlewoman, and him thought she
was the fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percivale
proffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she
refused him, in a manner, when he required her, for the cause he
should be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray her
of love. And when she saw him well enchafed, then she said: Sir
Percivale, wit you well I shall not fulfil your will but if ye swear
from henceforth ye shall be my true servant, and to do nothing but
that I shall command you. Will ye ensure me this as ye be a true
knight? Yea, said he, fair lady, by the faith of my body. Well, said
she, now shall ye do with me what so it please you; and now wit ye
well ye are the knight in the world that I have most desire for. And
then two squires were commanded to make a bed in middes of the
pavilion. And anon she was unclothed and laid therein. And then Sir
Percivale laid him down by her naked; and by adventure and grace he
saw his sword lie on the ground naked, in whose pommel was a red cross
and the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on his
knighthood and his promise made toforehand unto the good man; then he
made a sign of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilion
turned up so down, and then it changed unto a smoke, and a black
cloud, and then he was adread and cried aloud:
CHAPTER X
HOW SIR PERCIVALE FOR PENANCE ROVE HIMSELF THROUGH THE THIGH; AND HOW
SHE WAS KNOWN FOR THE DEVIL
Fair sweet father, Jesu Christ, ne let me not be shamed, the which was
nigh lost had not thy good grace been. And then he looked into a ship,
and saw her enter therein, which said: Sir Percivale, ye have betrayed
me. And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemed
all the water brent after her. Then Sir Percivale made great sorrow,
and drew his sword unto him, saying: Sithen my flesh will be my master
I shall punish it; and therewith he rove himself through the thigh
that the blood start about him, and said: O good Lord, take this in
recompensation of that I have done against thee, my Lord. So then he
clothed him and armed him, and called himself a wretch, saying: How
nigh was I lost, and to have lost that I should never have gotten
again, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after it
is once lost. And then he stopped his bleeding wound with a piece of
his shirt. Thus as he made his moan he saw the same ship come from
Orient that the good man was in the day afore, and the noble knight
was ashamed with himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon. And when
he awoke he went unto him weakly, and there he saluted this good man.
And then he asked Sir Percivale: How hast thou done sith I departed?
Sir, said he, here was a gentlewoman and led me into deadly sin. And
there he told him altogether. Knew ye not the maid? said the good man.
Sir, said he, nay, but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame
me. O good knight, said he, thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman was
the master fiend of hell, the which hath power above all devils, and
that was the old lady that thou sawest in thine advision riding on the
serpent. Then he told Sir Percivale how our Lord Jesu Christ beat him
out of heaven for his sin, the which was the most brightest angel of
heaven, and therefore he lost his heritage: And that was the champion
that thou foughtest withal, the which had overcome thee had not the
grace of God been. Now beware Sir Percivale, and taken this for an
ensample. And then the good man vanished away. Then Sir Percivale took
his arms, and entered into the ship, and so departed from thence.
_Here endeth the fourtenthe booke, whiche is of syr Percyval. And here
followeth of syre Launcelot, whiche is the fyftenth book_.
THE FIFTEENTH BOOK
CHAPTER I
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME TO A CHAPEL, WHERE HE FOUND DEAD, IN A WHITE
SHIRT, A MAN OF RELIGION, OF AN HUNDRED WINTER OLD
When the hermit had kept Sir Launcelot three days, the hermit gat him
a horse, an helm, and a sword. And then he departed about the hour of
noon. And then he saw a little house. And when he came near he saw a
chapel, and there beside he saw an old man that was clothed all in
white full richly; and then Sir Launcelot said: God save you. God keep
you, said the good man, and make you a good knight. Then Sir Launcelot
alit and entered into the chapel and there he saw an old man dead, in
a white shirt of passing fine cloth. Sir, said the good man, this man
that is dead ought not to be in such clothing as ye see him in, for in
that he brake the oath of his order, for he hath been more than an
hundred winter a man of a religion. And then the good man and Sir
Launcelot went into the chapel; and the good man took a stole about
his neck, and a book, and then he conjured on that book; and with that
they saw in an hideous figure and horrible, that there was no man so
hard-hearted nor so hard but he should have been afeard. Then said the
fiend: Thou hast travailed me greatly; now tell me what thou wilt with
me. I will, said the good man, that thou tell me how my fellow became
dead, and whether he be saved or damned. Then he said with an horrible
voice: He is not lost but saved. How may that be? said the good man;
it seemed to me that he lived not well, for he brake his order for to
wear a shirt where he ought to wear none, and who that trespasseth
against our order doth not well. Not so, said the fiend, this man that
lieth here dead was come of a great lineage. And there was a lord that
hight the Earl de Vale, that held great war against this man's nephew,
the which hight Aguarus. And so this Aguarus saw the earl was bigger
than he. Then he went for to take counsel of his uncle, the which
lieth here dead as ye may see. And then he asked leave, and went out
of his hermitage for to maintain his nephew against the mighty earl;
and so it happed that this man that lieth here dead did so much by his
wisdom and hardiness that the earl was taken, and three of his lords,
by force of this dead man.
CHAPTER II
OF A DEAD MAN, HOW MEN WOULD HAVE HEWN HIM, AND IT WOULD NOT BE, AND
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT TOOK THE HAIR OF THE DEAD MAN
Then was there peace betwixt the earl and this Aguarus, and great
surety that the earl should never war against him. Then this dead man
that here lieth came to this hermitage again; and then the earl made
two of his nephews for to be avenged upon this man. So they came on a
day, and found this dead man at the sacring of his mass, and they
abode him till he had said mass. And then they set upon him and drew
out swords to have slain him; but there would no sword bite on him
more than upon a gad of steel, for the high Lord which he served he
him preserved. Then made they a great fire, and did off all his
clothes, and the hair off his back. And then this dead man hermit said
unto them: Ween you to burn me? It shall not lie in your power nor to
perish me as much as a thread an there were any on my body. No, said
one of them, it shall be essayed. And then they despoiled him, and put
upon him this shirt, and cast him in a fire, and there he lay all that
night till it was day in that fire, and was not dead, and so in the
morn I came and found him dead; but I found neither thread nor skin
tamyd, and so took him out of the fire with great fear, and led him
here as ye may see. And now may ye suffer me to go my way, for I have
said you the sooth. And then he departed with a great tempest. Then
was the good man and Sir Launcelot more gladder than they were tofore.
And then Sir Launcelot dwelled with that good man that night. Sir,
said the good man, be ye not Sir Launcelot du Lake? Yea, sir, said he.
What seek ye in this country? Sir, said Sir Launcelot, I go to seek
the adventures of the Sangreal. Well, said he, seek it ye may well,
but though it were here ye shall have no power to see it no more than
a blind man should see a bright sword, and that is long on your sin,
and else ye were more abler than any man living. And then Sir
Launcelot began to weep. Then said the good man: Were ye confessed
sith ye entered into the quest of the Sangreal? Yea, sir, said Sir
Launcelot. Then upon the morn when the good man had sung his mass,
then they buried the dead man. Then Sir Launcelot said: Father, what
shall I do? Now, said the good man, I require you take this hair that
was this holy man's and put it next thy skin, and it shall prevail
thee greatly. Sir, and I will do it, said Sir Launcelot. Also I charge
you that ye eat no flesh as long as ye be in the quest of the
Sangreal, nor ye shall drink no wine, and that ye hear mass daily an
ye may do it. So he took the hair and put it upon him, and so departed
at evensong-time. And so rode he into a forest, and there he met with
a gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him: Sir
knight, whither ride ye? Certes, damosel, said Launcelot, I wot not
whither I ride but as fortune leadeth me. Ah, Sir Launcelot, said she,
I wot what adventure ye seek, for ye were afore time nearer than ye be
now, and yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and that
shall ye understand in short time. Then Sir Launcelot asked her where
he might be harboured that night. Ye shall not find this day nor
night, but tomorn ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye be
in doubt of. And then he commended her unto God. Then he rode till
that he came to a Cross, and took that for his host as for that night.
CHAPTER III
OF A VISION THAT SIR LAUNCELOT HAD, AND HOW HE TOLD IT TO AN HERMIT,
AND DESIRED COUNSEL OF HIM
And so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and his
shield, and made his prayers unto the Cross that he never fall in
deadly sin again. And so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he was
on sleep it befell him there an advision, that there came a man afore
him all by compass of stars, and that man had a crown of gold on his
head, and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights.
And all these worshipped the Cross, kneeling upon their knees, holding
up their hands toward the heaven. And all they said: Fair sweet Father
of heaven, come and visit us, and yield unto us every each as we have
deserved. Then looked Launcelot up to the heaven, and him seemed the
clouds did open, and an old man came down, with a company of angels,
and alit among them, and gave unto every each his blessing, and called
them his servants, and good and true knights. And when this old man
had said thus he came to one of those knights, and said: I have lost
all that I have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as a
warrior, and used wrong wars with vain glory, more for the pleasure of
the world than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded
without thou yield me my treasure. All this advision saw Sir Launcelot
at the Cross. And on the morn he took his horse and rode till midday;
and there by adventure he met with the same knight that took his
horse, helm, and his sword, when he slept when the Sangreal appeared
afore the Cross. When Sir Launcelot saw him he saluted him not fair,
but cried on high: Knight, keep thee, for thou hast done to me great
unkindness. And then they put afore them their spears, and Sir
Launcelot came so fiercely upon him that he smote him and his horse
down to the earth, that he had nigh broken his neck. Then Sir
Launcelot took the knight's horse that was his own aforehand, and
descended from the horse he sat upon, and mounted upon his own horse,
and tied the knight's own horse to a tree that he might find that
horse when that he was arisen. Then Sir Launcelot rode till night and
by adventure he met an hermit, and each of them saluted other; and
there he rested with that good man all night, and gave his horse such
as he might get. Then said the good man unto Launcelot: Of whence be
ye? Sir, said he, I am of Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Launcelot
du Lake that am in the quest of the Sangreal, and therefore I pray you
to counsel me of a vision the which I had at the Cross. And so he told
him all.
CHAPTER IV
HOW THE HERMIT EXPOUNDED TO SIR LAUNCELOT HIS VISION, AND TOLD HIM
THAT SIR GALAHAD WAS HIS SON
Lo, Sir Launcelot, said the good man, there thou mightest understand
the high lineage that thou art come of, and thine advision betokeneth.
After the passion of Jesu Christ forty year, Joseph of Aramathie
preached the victory of King Evelake, that he had in the battles the
better of his enemies. And of the seven kings and the two knights: the
first of them is called Nappus, an holy man; and the second hight
Nacien, in remembrance of his grandsire, and in him dwelled our lord
Jesu Christ; and the third was called Helias le Grose; and the fourth
hight Lisais; and the fifth hight Jonas, he departed out of his
country and went into Wales, and took there the daughter of Manuel,
whereby he had the land of Gaul, and he came to dwell in this country.
And of him came King Launcelot thy grandsire, the which there wedded
the king's daughter of Ireland, and he was as worthy a man as thou
art, and of him came King Ban, thy father, the which was the last of
the seven kings. And by thee, Sir Launcelot, it signifieth that the
angels said thou were none of the seven fellowships. And the last was
the ninth knight, he was signified to a lion, for he should pass all
manner of earthly knights that is Sir Galahad, the which thou gat on
King Pelles' daughter; and thou ought to thank God more than any other
man living, for of a sinner earthly thou hast no peer as in
knighthood, nor never shall be. But little thank hast thou given to
God for all the great virtues that God hath lent thee. Sir, said
Launcelot, ye say that that good knight is my son. That oughtest thou
to know and no man better, said the good man, for thou knewest the
daughter of King Pelles fleshly, and on her thou begattest Galahad,
and that was he that at the feast of Pentecost sat in the Siege
Perilous; and therefore make thou it known openly that he is one of
thy begetting on King Pelles' daughter, for that will be your worship
and honour, and to all thy kindred. And I counsel you in no place
press not upon him to have ado with him. Well, said Launcelot,
meseemeth that good knight should pray for me unto the High Father,
that I fall not to sin again. Trust thou well, said the good man, thou
farest mickle the better for his prayer; but the son shall not bear
the wickedness of the father, nor the father shall not bear the
wickedness of the son, but every each shall bear his own burden. And
therefore beseek thou only God, and he will help thee in all thy
needs. And then Sir Launcelot and he went to supper, and so laid him
to rest, and the hair pricked so Sir Launcelot's skin which grieved
him full sore, but he took it meekly, and suffered the pain. And so on
the morn he heard his mass and took his arms, and so took his leave.
CHAPTER V
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT JOUSTED WITH MANY KNIGHTS, AND HOW HE WAS TAKEN
And then mounted upon his horse, and rode into a forest, and held no
highway. And as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and beside
that a fair castle, and afore the castle were many pavilions of silk
and of diverse hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundred
knights riding on horseback; and there were two parties: they that
were of the castle were all on black horses and their trappours black,
and they that were without were all on white horses and trappours, and
every each hurtled to other that it marvelled Sir Launcelot. And at
the last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse. Then
thought Sir Launcelot for to help there the weaker party in increasing
of his chivalry. And so Sir Launcelot thrust in among the party of the
castle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the earth. And then
he rushed here and there, and did marvellous deeds of arms. And then
he drew out his sword, and struck many knights to the earth, so that
all those that saw him marvelled that ever one knight might do so
great deeds of arms. But always the white knights held them nigh about
Sir Launcelot, for to tire him and wind him. But at the last, as a man
may not ever endure, Sir Launcelot waxed so faint of fighting and
travailing, and was so weary of his great deeds, but he might not lift
up his arms for to give one stroke, so that he weened never to have
borne arms; and then they all took and led him away into a forest, and
there made him to alight and to rest him. And then all the fellowship
of the castle were overcome for the default of him. Then they said all
unto Sir Launcelot: Blessed be God that ye be now of our fellowship,
for we shall hold you in our prison; and so they left him with few
words. And then Sir Launcelot made great sorrow, For never or now was
I never at tournament nor jousts but I had the best, and now I am
shamed; and then he said: Now I am sure that I am more sinfuller than
ever I was. Thus he rode sorrowing, and half a day he was out of
despair, till that he came into a deep valley. And when Sir Launcelot
saw he might not ride up into the mountain, he there alit under an
apple tree, and there he left his helm and his shield, and put his
horse unto pasture. And then he laid him down to sleep. And then him
thought there came an old man afore him, the which said: Ah, Launcelot
of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightly
toward thy deadly sin? And when he had said thus he vanished away, and
Launcelot wist not where he was become. Then he took his horse, and
armed him; and as he rode by the way he saw a chapel where was a
recluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar. And
all aloud she called Launcelot, for that he seemed a knight errant.
And then he came, and she asked him what he was, and of what place,
and where about he went to seek.
CHAPTER VI
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT TOLD HIS VISION UNTO A WOMAN, AND HOW SHE EXPOUNDED
IT UNTO HIM
And then he told her all together word by word, and the truth how it
befell him at the tournament. And after told her his advision that he
had had that night in his sleep, and prayed her to tell him what it
might mean, for he was not well content with it. Ah, Launcelot, said
she, as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood ye were the most
marvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now, said the lady,
sithen ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, if
adventure fell thee contrary at that tournament have thou no marvel,
for that tournament yesterday was but a tokening of Our Lord. And not
for then there was none enchantment, for they at the tournament were
earthly knights. The tournament was a token to see who should have
most knights, either Eliazar, the son of King Pelles, or Argustus, the
son of King Harlon. But Eliazar was all clothed in white, and Argustus
was covered in black, the which were come. All what this betokeneth I
shall tell you. The day of Pentecost, when King Arthur held his court,
it befell that earthly kings and knights took a tournament together,
that is to say the quest of the Sangreal. The earthly knights were
they the which were clothed all in black, and the covering betokeneth
the sins whereof they be not confessed. And they with the covering of
white betokeneth virginity, and they that chose chastity. And thus was
the quest begun in them. Then thou beheld the sinners and the good
men, and when thou sawest the sinners overcome, thou inclinest to that
party for bobaunce and pride of the world, and all that must be left
in that quest, for in this quest thou shalt have many fellows and thy
betters. For thou art so feeble of evil trust and good belief, this
made it when thou were there where they took thee and led thee into
the forest. And anon there appeared the Sangreal unto the white
knights, but thou was so feeble of good belief and faith that thou
mightest not abide it for all the teaching of the good man, but anon
thou turnest to the sinners, and that caused thy misadventure that
thou should'st know good from evil and vain glory of the world, the
which is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou madest great
sorrow that thou haddest not overcome all the white knights with the
covering of white by whom was betokened virginity and chastity; and
therefore God was wroth with you, for God loveth no such deeds in this
quest. And this advision signifieth that thou were of evil faith and
of poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into the deep pit of
hell if thou keep thee not. Now have I warned thee of thy vain glory
and of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred against thy Maker.
Beware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly knights I have most
pity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy peer of any earthly
sinful man. And so she commended Sir Launcelot to dinner. And after
dinner he took his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into a
deep valley, and there he saw a river and an high mountain. And
through the water he must needs pass, the which was hideous; and then
in the name of God he took it with good heart. And when he came over
he saw an armed knight, horse and man black as any bear; without any
word he smote Sir Launcelot's horse to the earth; and so he passed on,
he wist not where he was become. And then he took his helm and his
shield, and thanked God of his adventure.
_Here leveth of the story of syr launcelot. And speke we of sir
gawayne, the whiche is the xvi. book_.
THE SIXTEENTH BOOK
CHAPTER I
HOW SIR GAWAINE WAS NIGH WEARY OF THE QUEST OF THE SANGREAL, AND OF
HIS MARVELLOUS DREAM
When Sir Gawaine was departed from his fellowship he rode long without
any adventure. For he found not the tenth part of adventure as he was
wont to do. For Sir Gawaine rode from Whitsuntide until Michaelmas and
found none adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell Gawaine
met with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other that
it were marvel to tell. And so they told every each other, and
complained them greatly that they could find none adventure. Truly,
said Sir Gawaine unto Sir Ector, I am nigh weary of this quest, and
loth I am to follow further in strange countries. One thing marvelled
me, said Sir Ector, I have met with twenty knights, fellows of mine,
and all they complain as I do. I have marvel, said Sir Gawaine, where
that Sir Launcelot, your brother, is. Truly, said Sir Ector, I cannot
hear of him, nor of Sir Galahad, Percivale, nor Sir Bors. Let them be,
said Sir Gawaine, for they four have no peers. And if one thing were
not in Sir Launcelot he had no fellow of none earthly man; but he is
as we be, but if he took more pain upon him. But an these four be met
together they will be loth that any man meet with them; for an they
fail of the Sangreal it is in waste of all the remnant to recover it.
Thus as Ector and Gawaine rode more than eight days. And on a Saturday
they found an old chapel, the which was wasted that there seemed no
man thither repaired; and there they alit, and set their spears at the
door, and in they entered into the chapel, and there made their
orisons a great while, and set them down in the sieges of the chapel.
And as they spake of one thing and other, for heaviness they fell on
sleep, and there befel them both marvellous adventures. Sir Gawaine
him seemed he came into a meadow full of herbs and flowers, and there
he saw a rack of bulls, an hundred and fifty, that were proud and
black, save three of them were all white, and one had a black spot,
and the other two were so fair and so white that they might be no
whiter. And these three bulls which were so fair were tied with two
strong cords. And the remnant of the bulls said among them: Go we
hence to seek better pasture. And so some went, and some came again,
but they were so lean that they might not stand upright; and of the
bulls that were so white, that one came again and no more. But when
this white bull was come again among these other there rose up a great
cry for lack of wind that failed them; and so they departed one here
and another there; this advision befell Gawaine that night.
CHAPTER II
OF THE VISION OF SIR ECTOR, AND HOW HE JOUSTED WITH SIR UWAINE LES
AVOUTRES, HIS SWORN BROTHER
But to Ector de Maris befell another vision the contrary. For it
seemed him that his brother, Sir Launcelot, and he alit out of a chair
and leapt upon two horses, and the one said to the other: Go we seek
that we shall not find. And him thought that a man beat Sir Launcelot,
and despoiled him, and clothed him in another array, the which was all
full of knots, and set him upon an ass, and so he rode till he came to
the fairest well that ever he saw; and Sir Launcelot alit and would
have drunk of that well. And when he stooped to drink of the water the
water sank from him. And when Sir Launcelot saw that, he turned and
went thither as the head came from. And in the meanwhile he trowed
that himself and Sir Ector rode till that they came to a rich man's
house where there was a wedding. And there he saw a king the which
said: Sir knight, here is no place for you. And then he turned again
unto the chair that he came from. Thus within a while both Gawaine and
Ector awaked, and either told other of their advision, the which
marvelled them greatly. Truly, said Ector, I shall never be merry till
I hear tidings of my brother Launcelot. Now as they sat thus talking
they saw an hand showing unto the elbow, and was covered with red
samite, and upon that hung a bridle not right rich, and held within
the fist a great candle which burned right clear, and so passed afore
them, and entered into the chapel, and then vanished away and they
wist not where. And anon came down a voice which said: Knights of full
evil faith and of poor belief, these two things have failed you, and
therefore ye may not come to the adventures of the Sangreal. Then
first spake Gawaine and said: Ector, have ye heard these words? Yea
truly, said Sir Ector, I heard all. Now go we, said Sir Ector, unto
some hermit that will tell us of our advision, for it seemeth me we
labour all in vain. And so they departed and rode into a valley, and
there met with a squire which rode on an hackney, and they saluted him
fair. Sir, said Gawaine, can thou teach us to any hermit? Here is one
in a little mountain, but it is so rough there may no horse go
thither, and therefore ye must go upon foot; there shall ye find a
poor house, and there is Nacien the hermit, which is the holiest man
in this country. And so they departed either from other. And then in a
valley they met with a knight all armed, which proffered them to joust
as far as he saw them. In the name of God, said Sir Gawaine, sith I
departed from Camelot there was none proffered me to joust but once.
And now, sir, said Ector, let me joust with him. Nay, said Gawaine, ye
shall not but if I be beat; it shall not forethink me then if ye go
after me. And then either embraced other to joust and came together as
fast as their horses might run, and brast their shields and the mails,
and the one more than the other; and Gawaine was wounded in the left
side, but the other knight was smitten through the breast, and the
spear came out on the other side, and so they fell both out of their
saddles, and in the falling they brake both their spears. Anon Gawaine
arose and set his hand to his sword, and cast his shield afore him.
But all for naught was it, for the knight had no power to rise against
him. Then said Gawaine: Ye must yield you as an overcome man, or else
I may slay you. Ah, sir knight, said he, I am but dead, for God's sake
and of your gentleness lead me here unto an abbey that I may receive
my Creator. Sir, said Gawaine, I know no house of religion hereby.
Sir, said the knight, set me on an horse tofore you, and I shall teach
you. Gawaine set him up in the saddle, and he leapt up behind him for
to sustain him, and so came to an abbey where they were well received;
and anon he was unarmed, and received his Creator. Then he prayed
Gawaine to draw out the truncheon of the spear out of his body. Then
Gawaine asked him what he was that knew him not. I am, said he, of
King Arthur's court, and was a fellow of the Round Table, and we were
brethren sworn together; and now Sir Gawaine, thou hast slain me, and
my name is Uwaine les Avoutres, that sometime was son unto King
Uriens, and was in the quest of the Sangreal; and now forgive it thee
God, for it shall ever be said that the one sworn brother hath slain
the other.
CHAPTER III
HOW SIR GAWAINE AND SIR ECTOR CAME TO AN HERMITAGE TO BE CONFESSED,
AND HOW THEY TOLD TO THE HERMIT THEIR VISIONS
Alas, said Gawaine, that ever this misadventure is befallen me. No
force, said Uwaine, sith I shall die this death, of a much more
worshipfuller man's hand might I not die; but when ye come to the
court recommend me unto my lord, King Arthur, and all those that be
left on live, and for old brotherhood think on me. Then began Gawaine
to weep, and Ector also. And then Uwaine himself and Sir Gawaine drew
out the truncheon of the spear, and anon departed the soul from the
body. Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector buried him as men ought to bury a
king's son, and made write upon his name, and by whom he was slain.
Then departed Gawaine and Ector as heavy as they might for their
misadventure, and so rode till that they came to the rough mountain,
and there they tied their horses and went on foot to the hermitage.
And when they were come up they saw a poor house, and beside the
chapel a little courtelage, where Nacien the hermit gathered worts, as
he which had tasted none other meat of a great while. And when he saw
the errant knights he came toward them and saluted them, and they him
again. Fair lords, said he, what adventure brought you hither? Sir,
said Gawaine, to speak with you for to be confessed. Sir, said the
hermit, I am ready. Then they told him so much that he wist well what
they were. And then he thought to counsel them if he might. Then began
Gawaine first and told him of his advision that he had had in the
chapel, and Ector told him all as it is afore rehearsed. Sir, said the
hermit unto Sir Gawaine, the fair meadow and the rack therein ought to
be understood the Round Table, and by the meadow ought to be
understood humility and patience, those be the things which be always
green and quick; for men may no time overcome humility and patience,
therefore was the Round Table founded; and the chivalry hath been at
all times so by the fraternity which was there that she might not be
overcome; for men said she was founded in patience and in humility. At
the rack ate an hundred and fifty bulls; but they ate not in the
meadow, for their hearts should be set in humility and patience, and
the bulls were proud and black save only three. By the bulls is to
understand the fellowship of the Round Table, which for their sin and
their wickedness be black. Blackness is to say without good or
virtuous works. And the three bulls which were white save only one
that was spotted: the two white betoken Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale,
for they be maidens clene and without spot; and the third that had a
spot signifieth Sir Bors de Ganis, which trespassed but once in his
virginity, but sithen he kept himself so well in chastity that all is
forgiven him and his misdeeds. And why those three were tied by the
necks, they be three knights in virginity and chastity, and there is
no pride smitten in them. And the black bulls which said: Go we hence,
they were those which at Pentecost at the high feast took upon them to
go in the quest of the Sangreal without confession: they might not
enter in the meadow of humility and patience. And therefore they
returned into waste countries, that signifieth death, for there shall
die many of them: every each of them shall slay other for sin, and
they that shall escape shall be so lean that it shall be marvel to see
them. And of the three bulls without spot, the one shall come again,
and the other two never.
CHAPTER IV
HOW THE HERMIT EXPOUNDED THEIR VISION
Then spake Nacien unto Ector: Sooth it is that Launcelot and ye come
down off one chair: the chair betokeneth mastership and lordship which
ye came down from. But ye two knights, said the hermit, ye go to seek
that ye shall never find, that is the Sangreal; for it is the secret
thing of our Lord Jesu Christ. What is to mean that Sir Launcelot fell
down off his horse: he hath left pride and taken him to humility, for
he had cried mercy loud for his sin, and sore repented him, and our
Lord hath clothed him in his clothing which is full of knots, that is
the hair that he weareth daily. And the ass that he rode upon is a
beast of humility, for God would not ride upon no steed, nor upon no
palfrey; so in ensample that an ass betokeneth meekness, that thou
sawest Sir Launcelot ride on in thy sleep. And the well whereas the
water sank from him when he should have taken thereof, and when he saw
he might not have it, he returned thither from whence he came, for the
well betokeneth the high grace of God, the more men desire it to take
it, the more shall be their desire. So when he came nigh the Sangreal,
he meeked him that he held him not a man worthy to be so nigh the holy
vessel, for he had been so befouled in deadly sin by the space of many
years; yet when he kneeled to drink of the well, there he saw great
providence o£ the Sangreal. And for he had served so long the devil,
he shall have vengeance four and twenty days long, for that he hath
been the devil's servant four and twenty years. And then soon after he
shall return unto Camelot out of this country, and he shall say a part
of such things as he hath found. Now will I tell you what betokeneth
the hand with the candle and the bridle: that is to understand the
holy ghost where charity is ever, and the bridle signifieth
abstinence. For when she is bridled in Christian man's heart she
holdeth him so short that he falleth not in deadly sin. And the candle
which sheweth clearness and sight signifieth the right way of Jesu
Christ. And when he went and said: Knights of poor faith and of wicked
belief, these three things failed, charity, abstinence, and truth;
therefore ye may not attain that high adventure of the Sangreal.
CHAPTER V
OF THE GOOD COUNSEL THAT THE HERMIT GAVE TO HIM
Certes, said Gawaine, soothly have ye said, that I see it openly. Now,
I pray you, good man and holy father, tell me why we met not with so
many adventures as we were wont to do, and commonly have the better. I
shall tell you gladly, said the good man; the adventure of the
Sangreal which ye and many other have undertaken the quest of it and
find it not, the cause is for it appeareth not to sinners. Wherefore
marvel not though ye fail thereof, and many other. For ye be an untrue
knight, and a great murderer, and to good men signifieth other things
than murder. For I dare say as sinful as Sir Launcelot hath been, sith
that he went into the quest of the Sangreal he slew never man, nor
nought shall, till that he come unto Camelot again, for he hath taken
upon him for to forsake sin. And nere that he nys not stable, but by
his thought he is likely to turn again, he should be next to achieve
it save Galahad, his son. But God knoweth his thought and his
unstableness, and yet shall he die right an holy man, and no doubt he
hath no fellow of no earthly sinful man. Sir, said Gawaine, it seemeth
me by your words that for our sins it will not avail us to travel in
this quest. Truly, said the good man, there be an hundred such as ye
be that never shall prevail, but to have shame. And when they had
heard these voices they commended him unto God. Then the good man
called Gawaine, and said: It is long time passed sith that ye were
made knight, and never sithen thou servedst thy Maker, and now thou
art so old a tree that in thee is neither life nor fruit; wherefore
bethink thee that thou yield to Our Lord the bare rind, sith the fiend
hath the leaves and the fruit. Sir, said Gawaine, an I had leisure I
would speak with you, but my fellow here, Sir Ector, is gone, and
abideth me yonder beneath the hill. Well, said the good man, thou were
better to be counselled. Then departed Gawaine and came to Ector, and
so took their horses and rode till they came to a forester's house,
which harboured them right well. And on the morn they departed from
their host, and rode long or they could find any adventure.
CHAPTER VI
HOW SIR BORS MET WITH AN HERMIT, AND HOW HE WAS CONFESSED TO HIM, AND
OF HIS PENANCE ENJOINED TO HIM
When Bors was departed from Camelot he met with a religious man riding
on an ass, and Sir Bors saluted him. Anon the good man knew him that
he was one of the knights errant that was in the quest of the
Sangreal. What are ye? said the good man. Sir, said he, I am a knight
that fain would be counselled in the quest of the Sangreal, for he
shall have much earthly worship that may bring it to an end. Certes,
said the good man, that is sooth, for he shall be the best knight of
the world, and the fairest of all the fellowship. But wit you well
there shall none attain it but by cleanness, that is pure confession.
So rode they together till that they came to an hermitage. And there
he prayed Bors to dwell all that night with him. And so he alit and
put away his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed; and so
they went into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed, and they
ate bread and drank water together. Now, said the good man, I pray
thee that thou eat none other till that thou sit at the table where
the Sangreal shall be. Sir, said he, I agree me thereto, but how wit
ye that I shall sit there. Yes, said the good man, that know I, but
there shall be but few of your fellows with you. All is welcome, said
Sir Bors, that God sendeth me. Also, said the good man, instead of a
shirt, and in sign of chastisement, ye shall wear a garment; therefore
I pray you do off all your clothes and your shirt: and so he did. And
then he took him a scarlet coat, so that should be instead of his
shirt till he had fulfilled the quest of the Sangreal; and the good
man found in him so marvellous a life and so stable, that he marvelled
and felt that he was never corrupt in fleshly lusts, but in one time
that he begat Elian le Blank. Then he armed him, and took his leave,
and so departed. And so a little from thence he looked up into a tree,
and there he saw a passing great bird upon an old tree, and it was
passing dry, without leaves; and the bird sat above, and had birds,
the which were dead for hunger. So smote he himself with his beak, the
which was great and sharp. And so the great bird bled till that he
died among his birds. And the young birds took the life by the blood
of the great bird. When Bors saw this he wist well it was a great
tokening; for when he saw the great bird arose not, then he took his
horse and yede his way. So by evensong, by adventure he came to a
strong tower and an high, and there was he lodged gladly.
CHAPTER VII
HOW SIR BORS WAS LODGED WITH A LADY, AND HOW HE TOOK UPON HIM FOR TO
FIGHT AGAINST A CHAMPION FOR HER LAND
And when he was unarmed they led him into an high tower where was a
lady, young, lusty, and fair. And she received him with great joy, and
made him to sit down by her, and so was he set to sup with flesh and
many dainties. And when Sir Bors saw that, he bethought him on his
penance, and bad a squire to bring him water. And so he brought him,
and he made sops therein and ate them. Ah, said the lady, I trow ye
like not my meat. Yes, truly, said Sir Bors, God thank you, madam, but
I may eat none other meat this day. Then she spake no more as at that
time, for she was loth to displease him. Then after supper they spake
of one thing and other. With that came a squire and said: Madam, ye
must purvey you tomorn for a champion, for else your sister will have
this castle and also your lands, except ye can find a knight that will
fight tomorn in your quarrel against Pridam le Noire. Then she made
sorrow and said: Ah, Lord God, wherefore granted ye to hold my land,
whereof I should now be disherited without reason and right? And when
Sir Bors had heard her say thus, he said, I shall comfort you. Sir,
said she, I shall tell you there was here a king that hight Aniause,
which held all this land in his keeping. So it mishapped he loved a
gentlewoman a great deal elder than I. So took he her all this land to
her keeping, and all his men to govern; and she brought up many evil
customs whereby she put to death a great part of his kinsmen. And when
he saw that, he let chase her out of this land, and betook it me, and
all this land in my demesnes. But anon as that worthy king was dead,
this other lady began to war upon me, and hath destroyed many of my
men, and turned them against me, that I have wellnigh no man left me;
and I have nought else but this high tower that she left me. And yet
she hath promised me to have this tower, without I can find a knight
to fight with her champion. Now tell me, said Sir Bors, what is that
Pridam le Noire? Sir, said she, he is the most doubted man of this
land. Now may ye send her word that ye have found a knight that shall
fight with that Pridam le Noire in God's quarrel and yours. Then that
lady was not a little glad, and sent word that she was purveyed, and
that night Bors had good cheer; but in no bed he would come, but laid
him on the floor, nor never would do otherwise till that he had met
with the quest of the Sangreal.
CHAPTER VIII
OF A VISION WHICH SIR BORS HAD THAT NIGHT, AND HOW HE FOUGHT AND
OVERCAME HIS ADVERSARY
And anon as he was asleep him befel a vision, that there came to him
two birds, the one as white as a swan, and the other was marvellous
black; but it was not so great as the other, but in the likeness of a
Raven. Then the white bird came to him, and said: An thou wouldst give
me meat and serve me I should give thee all the riches of the world,
and I shall make thee as fair and as white as I am. So the white bird
departed, and there came the black bird to him, and said: An thou
wolt, serve me to-morrow and have me in no despite though I be black,
for wit thou well that more availeth my blackness than the other's
whiteness. And then he departed. And he had another vision: him
thought that he came to a great place which seemed a chapel, and there
he found a chair set on the left side, which was wormeaten and feeble.
And on the right hand were two flowers like a lily, and the one would
have benome the other's whiteness but a good man departed them that
the one touched not the other; and then out of every flower came out
many flowers, and fruit great plenty. Then him thought the good man
said: Should not he do great folly that would let these two flowers
perish for to succour the rotten tree, that it fell not to the earth?
Sir, said he, it seemeth me that this wood might not avail. Now keep
thee, said the good man, that thou never see such adventure befall
thee. Then he awaked and made a sign of the cross in middes of the
forehead, and so rose and clothed him. And there came the lady of the
place, and she saluted him, and he her again, and so went to a chapel
and heard their service. And there came a company of knights, that the
lady had sent for, to lead Sir Bors unto battle. Then asked he his
arms. And when he was armed she prayed him to take a little morsel to
dine. Nay, madam, said he, that shall I not do till I have done my
battle, by the grace of God. And so he lept upon his horse, and
departed all the knights and men with him. And as soon as these two
ladies met together, she which Bors should fight for complained her,
and said: Madam, ye have done me wrong to bereave me of my lands that
King Aniause gave me, and full loth I am there should be any battle.
Ye shall not choose, said the other lady, or else your knight withdraw
him. Then there was the cry made, which party had the better of the
two knights, that his lady should rejoice all the land. Now departed
the one knight here, and the other there. Then they came together with
such a raundon that they pierced their shields and their hauberks, and
the spears flew in pieces, and they wounded either other sore. Then
hurtled they together, so that they fell both to the earth, and their
horses betwixt their legs; and anon they arose, and set hands to their
swords, and smote each one other upon the heads, that they made great
wounds and deep, that the blood went out of their bodies. For there
found Sir Bors greater defence in that knight more than he weened. For
that Pridam was a passing good knight, and he wounded Sir Bors full
evil, and he him again; but ever this Pridam held the stour in like
hard. That perceived Sir Bors, and suffered him till he was nigh
attaint. And then he ran upon him more and more, and the other went
back for dread of death. So in his withdrawing he fell upright, and
Sir Bors drew his helm so strongly that he rent it from his head, and
gave him great strokes with the flat of his sword upon the visage, and
bad him yield him or he should slay him. Then he cried him mercy and
said: Fair knight, for God's love slay me not, and I shall ensure thee
never to war against thy lady, but be alway toward her. Then Bors let
him be; then the old lady fled with all her knights.
CHAPTER IX
HOW THE LADY WAS RETURNED TO HER LANDS BY THE BATTLE OF SIR BORS, AND
OF HIS DEPARTING, AND HOW HE MET SIR LIONEL TAKEN AND BEATEN WITH
THORNS, AND ALSO OF A MAID WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN DISHONOURED
So then came Bors to all those that held lands of his lady, and said
he should destroy them but if they did such service unto her as longed
to their lands. So they did their homage, and they that would not were
chased out of their lands. Then befel that young lady to come to her
estate again, by the mighty prowess of Sir Bors de Ganis. So when all
the country was well set in peace, then Sir Bors took his leave and
departed; and she thanked him greatly, and would have given him great
riches, but he refused it. Then he rode all that day till night, and
came to an harbour to a lady which knew him well enough, and made of
him great joy. Upon the morn, as soon as the day appeared, Bors
departed from thence, and so rode into a forest unto the hour of
midday, and there befel him a marvellous adventure. So he met at the
departing of the two ways two knights that led Lionel, his brother,
all naked, bounden upon a strong hackney, and his hands bounden tofore
his breast. And every each of them held in his hands thorns wherewith
they went beating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than in
an hundred places of his body, so that he was all blood tofore and
behind, but he said never a word; as he which was great of heart he
suffered all that ever they did to him as though he had felt none
anguish. Anon Sir Bors dressed him to rescue him that was his brother;
and so he looked upon the other side of him, and saw a knight which
brought a fair gentlewoman, and would have set her in the thickest
place of the forest for to have been the more surer out of the way
from them that sought him. And she which was nothing assured cried
with an high voice: Saint Mary succour your maid. And anon she espied
where Sir Bors came riding. And when she came nigh him she deemed him
a knight of the Round Table, whereof she hoped to have some comfort;
and then she conjured him: By the faith that he ought unto him in
whose service thou art entered in, and for the faith ye owe unto the
high order of knighthood, and for the noble King Arthur's sake, that I
suppose that made thee knight, that thou help me, and suffer me not to
be shamed of this knight. When Bors heard her say thus he had so much
sorrow there he nyst not what to do. For if I let my brother be in
adventure he must be slain, and that would I not for all the earth.
And if I help not the maid she is shamed for ever, and also she shall
lose her virginity the which she shall never get again. Then lift he
up his eyes and said weeping: Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, whose liege
man I am, keep Lionel, my brother, that these knights slay him not,
and for pity of you, and for Mary's sake, I shall succour this maid.
CHAPTER X
HOW SIR BORS LEFT TO RESCUE HIS BROTHER, AND RESCUED THE DAMOSEL; AND
HOW IT WAS TOLD HIM THAT LIONEL WAS DEAD
Then dressed he him unto the knight the which had the gentlewoman, and
then he cried: Sir knight, let your hand off that maiden, or ye be but
dead. And then he set down the maiden, and was armed at all pieces
save he lacked his spear. Then he dressed his shield, and drew out his
sword, and Bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield and
habergeon on the left shoulder. And through great strength he beat him
down to the earth, and at the pulling out of Bors' spear there he
swooned. Then came Bors to the maid and said: How seemeth it you? of
this knight ye be delivered at this time. Now sir, said she, I pray
you lead me there as this knight had me. So shall I do gladly: and
took the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon
him, and so brought her as she desired. Sir knight, said she, ye have
better sped than ye weened, for an I had lost my maidenhead, five
hundred men should have died for it. What knight was he that had you
in the forest? By my faith, said she, he is my cousin. So wot I never
with what engyn the fiend enchafed him, for yesterday he took me from
my father privily; for I nor none of my father's men mistrusted him
not, and if he had had my maidenhead he should have died for the sin,
and his body shamed and dishonoured for ever. Thus as she stood
talking with him there came twelve knights seeking after her, and anon
she told them all how Bors had delivered her; then they made great
joy, and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he
should be right welcome. Truly, said Bors, that may not be at this
time, for I have a great adventure to do in this country. So he
commended them unto God and departed. Then Sir Bors rode after Lionel,
his brother, by the trace of their horses, thus he rode seeking a
great while. Then he overtook a man clothed in a religious clothing,
and rode on a strong black horse blacker than a bear, and said: Sir
knight, what seek you? Sir, said he, I seek my brother that I saw
within a while beaten with two knights. Ah, Bors, discomfort you not,
nor fall into no wanhope, for I shall tell you tidings such as they
be, for truly he is dead. Then showed he him a new slain body lying in
a bush, and it seemed him well that it was the body of Lionel; and
then he made such a sorrow that he fell to the earth all in a swoon,
and lay a great while there. And when he came to himself he said: Fair
brother, sith the company of you and me is departed shall I never have
joy in my heart, and now he which I have taken unto my master, He be
my help. And when he had said thus he took his body lightly in his
arms, and put it upon the arson of his saddle. And then he said to the
man: Canst thou tell me unto some chapel where that I may bury this
body? Come on, said he, here is one fast by; and so long they rode
till they saw a fair tower, and afore it there seemed an old feeble
chapel. And then they alit both, and put him into a tomb of marble.
CHAPTER XI
HOW SIR BORS TOLD HIS DREAM TO A PRIEST, WHICH HE HAD DREAMED, AND OF
THE COUNSEL THAT THE PRIEST GAVE TO HIM
Now leave we him here, said the good man, and go we to our harbour
till to-morrow; we will come here again to do him service. Sir, said
Bors, be ye a priest? Yea forsooth, said he. Then I pray you tell me a
dream that befell to me the last night. Say on, said he. Then he began
so much to tell him of the great bird in the forest, and after told
him of his birds, one white, another black, and of the rotten tree,
and of the white flowers. Sir, I shall tell you a part now, and the
other dele to-morrow. The white fowl betokeneth a gentlewoman, fair
and rich, which loved thee paramours, and hath loved thee long; and if
thou warne her love she shall go die anon, if thou have no pity on
her. That signifieth the great bird, the which shall make thee to
warne her. Now for no fear that thou hast, nor for no dread that thou
hast of God, thou shalt not warne her, but thou wouldst not do it for
to be holden chaste, for to conquer the loos of the vain glory of the
world; for that shall befall thee now an thou warne her, that
Launcelot, the good knight, thy cousin, shall die. And therefore men
shall now say that thou art a manslayer, both of thy brother, Sir
Lionel, and of thy cousin, Sir Launcelot du Lake, the which thou
mightest have saved and rescued easily, but thou weenest to rescue a
maid which pertaineth nothing to thee. Now look thou whether it had
been greater harm of thy brother's death, or else to have suffered her
to have lost her maidenhood. Then asked he him: Hast thou heard the
tokens o£ thy dream the which I have told to you? Yea forsooth, said
Sir Bors, all your exposition and declaring of my dream I have well
understood and heard. Then said the man in this black clothing: Then
is it in thy default if Sir Launcelot, thy cousin, die. Sir, said
Bors, that were me loth, for wit ye well there is nothing in the world
but I had lever do it than to see my lord Sir Launcelot du Lake, to
die in my default. Choose ye now the one or the other, said the good
man. And then he led Sir Bors into an high tower, and there he found
knights and ladies: those ladies said he was welcome, and so they
unarmed him. And when he was in his doublet men brought him a mantle
furred with ermine, and put it about him; and then they made him such
cheer that he had forgotten all his sorrow and anguish, and only set
his heart in these delights and dainties, and took no thought more for
his brother, Sir Lionel, neither of Sir Launcelot du Lake, his cousin.
And anon came out of a chamber to him the fairest lady that ever he
saw, and more richer bysene than ever he saw Queen Guenever or any
other estate. Lo, said they, Sir Bors, here is the lady unto whom we
owe all our service, and I trow she be the richest lady and the
fairest of all the world, and the which loveth you best above all
other knights, for she will have no knight but you. And when he
understood that language he was abashed. Not for then she saluted him,
and he her; and then they sat down together and spake of many things,
in so much that she besought him to be her love, for she had loved him
above all earthly men, and she should make him richer than ever was
man of his age. When Bors understood her words he was right evil at
ease, which in no manner would not break chasity, so wist not he how
to answer her.
CHAPTER XII
HOW A DEVIL IN WOMAN'S LIKENESS WOULD HAVE TEMPTED SIR BORS, AND HOW
BY GOD'S GRACE HE ESCAPED
Alas, said she, Bors, shall ye not do my will? Madam, said Bors,
there is no lady in the world whose will I will fulfill as of this
thing, for my brother lieth dead which was slain right late. Ah Bors,
said she, I have loved you long for the great beauty I have seen in
you, and the great hardiness that I have heard of you, that needs ye
must lie by me this night, and therefore I pray you grant it me.
Truly, said he, I shall not do it in no manner wise. Then she made him
such sorrow as though she would have died. Well Bors, said she, unto
this have ye brought me, nigh to mine end. And therewith she took him
by the hand, and bad him behold her. And ye shall see how I shall die
for your love. Ah, said then he, that shall I never see. Then she
departed and went up into an high battlement, and led with her twelve
gentlewomen; and when they were above, one of the gentlewomen cried,
and said: Ah, Sir Bors, gentle knight have mercy on us all, and suffer
my lady to have her will, and if ye do not we must suffer death with
our lady, for to fall down off this high tower, and if ye suffer us
thus to die for so little a thing all ladies and gentlewomen will say
of you dishonour. Then looked he upward, they seemed all ladies of
great estate, and richly and well bisene. Then had he of them great
pity; not for that he was uncounselled in himself that lever he had
they all had lost their souls than he his, and with that they fell
adown all at once unto the earth. And when he saw that, he was all
abashed, and had thereof great marvel. With that he blessed his body
and his visage. And anon he heard a great noise and a great cry, as
though all the fiends of hell had been about him; and therewith he saw
neither tower nor lady, nor gentlewoman, nor no chapel where he
brought his brother to. Then held he up both his hands to the heaven,
and said: Fair Father God, I am grievously escaped; and then he took
his arms and his horse and rode on his way. Then he heard a clock
smite on his right hand; and thither he came to an Abbey on his right
hand, closed with high walls, and there was let in. Then they supposed
that he was one of the quest of the Sangreal, so they led him into a
chamber and unarmed him. Sirs, said Sir Bors, if there be any holy man
in this house I pray you let me speak with him. Then one of them led
him unto the Abbot, which was in a Chapel. And then Sir Bors saluted
him, and he him again. Sir, said Bors, I am a knight errant; and told
him all the adventure which he had seen. Sir Knight, said the Abbot, I
wot not what ye be, for I weened never that a knight of your age might
have been so strong in the grace of our Lord Jesu Christ. Not for then
ye shall go unto your rest, for I will not counsel you this day, it is
too late, and to-morrow I shall counsel you as I can.
CHAPTER XIII
OF THE HOLY COMMUNICATION OF AN ABBOT TO SIR BORS, AND HOW THE ABBOT
COUNSELLED HIM
And that night was Sir Bors served richly; and on the morn early he
heard mass, and the Abbot came to him, and bad him good morrow, and
Bors to him again. And then he told him he was a fellow of the quest
of the Sangreal, and how he had charge of the holy man to eat bread
and water. Then said the Abbot: Our Lord Jesu Christ showed him unto
you in the likeness of a soul that suffered great anguish for us, syne
He was put upon the cross, and bled His heart blood for mankind: there
was the token and the likeness of the Sangreal that appeared afore
you, for the blood that the great fowl bled revived the chickens from
death to life. And by the bare tree is betokened the world which is
naked and without fruit but if it come to Our Lord. Also the lady for
whom ye fought for, and King Aniause which was lord there tofore,
betokeneth Jesu Christ which is the King of the world. And that ye
fought with the champion for the lady, this it betokeneth: for when ye
took the battle for the lady, by her shall ye understand the new law
of Jesu Christ and Holy Church; and by the other lady ye shall
understand the old law and the fiend, which all day warreth against
Holy Church, therefore ye did your battle with right. For ye be Jesu
Christ's knights, therefore ye ought to be defenders of Holy Church.
And by the black bird might ye understand Holy Church, which sayeth I
am black, but he is fair. And by the white bird might men understand
the fiend, and I shall tell you how the swan is white without forth,
and black within: it is hypocrisy which is without yellow or pale, and
seemeth without forth the servants of Jesu Christ, but they be within
so horrible of filth and sin, and beguile the world evil. Also when
the fiend appeared to thee in likeness of a man of religion, and
blamed thee that thou left thy brother for a lady, so led thee where
thou seemed thy brother was slain, but he is yet on live; and all was
for to put thee in error, and bring thee unto wanhope and lechery, for
he knew thou were tender hearted, and all was for thou shouldst not
find the blessed adventure of the Sangreal. And the third fowl
betokeneth the strong battle against the fair ladies which were all
devils. Also the dry tree and the white lily: the dry tree betokeneth
thy brother Lionel, which is dry without virtue, and therefore many
men ought to call him the rotten tree, and the wormeaten tree, for he
is a murderer and doth contrary to the order of knighthood. And the
two white flowers signify two maidens, the one is a knight which was
wounded the other day, and the other is the gentlewoman which ye
rescued; and why the other flower drew nigh the other, that was the
knight which would have befouled her and himself both. And Sir Bors,
ye had been a great fool and in great peril for to have seen those two
flowers perish for to succour the rotten tree, for and they had sinned
together they had been damned; and for that ye rescued them both, men
might call you a very knight and servant of Jesu Christ.
CHAPTER XIV
HOW SIR BORS MET WITH HIS BROTHER SIR LIONEL, AND HOW SIR LIONEL WOULD
HAVE SLAIN SIR BORS
Then went Sir Bors from thence and commended the abbot unto God. And
then he rode all that day, and harboured with an old lady. And on the
morn he rode to a castle in a valley, and there he met with a yeoman
going a great pace toward a forest. Say me, said Sir Bors, canst thou
tell me of any adventure? Sir, said he, here shall be under this
castle a great and a marvellous tournament. Of what folks shall it be?
said Sir Bors. The Earl of Plains shall be in the one party, and the
lady's nephew of Hervin on the other party. Then Bors thought to be
there if he might meet with his brother Sir Lionel, or any other of
his fellowship, which were in the quest of the Sangreal. And then he
turned to an hermitage that was in the entry of the forest. And when
he was come thither he found there Sir Lionel, his brother, which sat
all armed at the entry of the chapel door for to abide there harbour
till on the morn that the tournament shall be. And when Sir Bors saw
him he had great joy of him, that it were marvel to tell of his joy.
And then he alit off his horse, and said: Fair sweet brother, when
came ye hither? Anon as Lionel saw him he said: Ah Bors, ye may not
make none avaunt, but as for you I might have been slain; when ye saw
two knights leading me away beating me, ye left me for to succour a
gentlewoman, and suffered me in peril of death; for never erst me did
no brother to another so great an untruth. And for that misdeed now I
ensure you but death, for well have ye deserved it; therefore keep
thee from henceforward, and that shall ye find as soon as I am armed.
When Sir Bors understood his brother's wrath he kneeled down to the
earth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed him
to forgive him his evil will. Nay, said Lionel, that shall never be an
I may have the higher hand, that I make mine avow to God, thou shalt
have death for it, for it were pity ye lived any longer. Right so he
went in and took his harness, and mounted upon his horse, and came
tofore him and said: Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to thee
as I would to a felon or a traitor, for ye be the untruest knight that
ever came out of so worthy an house as was King Bors' de Ganis which
was our father, therefore start upon thy horse, and so shall ye be
most at your advantage. And but if ye will I will run upon you there
as ye stand upon foot, and so the shame shall be mine and the harm
yours, but of that shame ne reck I nought. When Sir Bors saw that he
must fight with his brother or else to die, he nist what to do; then
his heart counselled him not thereto, inasmuch as Lionel was born or
he, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence; yet kneeled he down
afore Lionel's horse's feet, and said: Fair sweet brother, have mercy
upon me and slay me not, and have in remembrance the great love which
ought to be between us twain. What Sir Bors said to Lionel he recked
not, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slay
him. Then when Lionel saw he would none other, and that he would not
have risen to give him battle, he rushed over him so that he smote
Bors with his horse, feet upward to the earth, and hurt him so sore
that he swooned of distress, the which he felt in himself to have died
without confession. So when Lionel saw this, he alit off his horse to
have smitten off his head. And so he took him by the helm, and would
have rent it from his head. Then came the hermit running unto him,
which was a good man and of great age, and well had heard all the
words that were between them, and so fell down upon Sir Bors.
CHAPTER XV
HOW SIR COLGREVANCE FOUGHT AGAINST SIR LIONEL FOR TO SAVE SIR BORS,
AND HOW THE HERMIT WAS SLAIN
Then he said to Lionel: Ah gentle knight, have mercy upon me and on
thy brother, for if thou slay him thou shalt be dead of sin, and that
were sorrowful, for he is one of the worthiest knights of the world,
and of the best conditions. So God help me, said Lionel, sir priest,
but if ye flee from him I shall slay you, and he shall never the
sooner be quit. Certes, said the good man, I have lever ye slay me
than him, for my death shall not be great harm, not half so much as of
his. Well, said Lionel, I am agreed; and set his hand to his sword and
smote him so hard that his head yede backward. Not for that he
restrained him of his evil will, but took his brother by the helm, and
unlaced it to have stricken off his head, and had slain him without
fail. But so it happed, Colgrevance, a fellow of the Round Table, came
at that time thither as Our Lord's will was. And when he saw the good
man slain he marvelled much what it might be. And then he beheld
Lionel would have slain his brother, and knew Sir Bors which he loved
right well. Then start he down and took Lionel by the shoulders, and
drew him strongly aback from Bors, and said: Lionel, will ye slay your
brother, the worthiest knight of the world one? and that should no
good man suffer. Why, said Lionel, will ye let me? therefore if ye
intermit you in this I shall slay you, and him after. Why, said
Colgrevance, is this sooth that ye will slay him? Slay him will I,
said he, whoso say the contrary, for he hath done so much against me
that he hath well deserved it. And so ran upon him, and would have
smitten him through the head, and Sir Colgrevance ran betwixt them,
and said: An ye be so hardy to do so more, we two shall meddle
together. When Lionel understood his words he took his shield afore
him, and asked him what that he was. And he told him, Colgrevance, one
of his fellows. Then Lionel defied him, and gave him a great stroke
through the helm. Then he drew his sword, for he was a passing good
knight, and defended him right manfully. So long dured the battle that
Bors rose up all anguishly, and beheld Colgrevance, the good knight,
fought with his brother for his quarrel; then was he full sorry and
heavy, and thought if Colgrevance slay him that was his brother he
should never have joy; and if his brother slew Colgrevance the shame
should ever be mine. Then would he have risen to have departed them,
but he had not so much might to stand on foot; so he abode him so long
till Colgrevance had the worse, for Lionel was of great chivalry and
right hardy, for he had pierced the hauberk and the helm, that he
abode but death, for he had lost much of his blood that it was marvel
that he might stand upright. Then beheld he Sir Bors which sat
dressing him upward and said: Ah, Bors, why come ye not to cast me out
of peril of death, wherein I have put me to succour you which were
right now nigh the death? Certes, said Lionel, that shall not avail
you, for none of you shall bear others warrant, but that ye shall die
both of my hand. When Bors heard that, he did so much, he rose and put
on his helm. Then perceived he first the hermit priest which was
slain, then made he a marvellous sorrow upon him.
CHAPTER XVI
HOW SIR LIONEL SLEW SIR COLGREVANCE, AND HOW AFTER HE WOULD HAVE SLAIN
SIR BORS
Then often Colgrevance cried upon Sir Bors: Why will ye let me die
here for your sake? if it please you that I die for you the death, it
will please me the better for to save a worthy man. With that word Sir
Lionel smote off the helm from his head. Then Colgrevance saw that he
might not escape; then he said: Fair sweet Jesu, that I have misdone
have mercy upon my soul, for such sorrow that my heart suffereth for
goodness, and for alms deed that I would have done here, be to me
alygement of penance unto my soul's health. At these words Lionel
smote him so sore that he bare him to the earth. So he had slain
Colgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him
such a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of humility
prayed him for God's love to leave this battle: For an it befel, fair
brother, that I slew you or ye me, we should be dead of that sin.
Never God me help but if I have on you mercy, and I may have the
better hand. Then drew Bors his sword, all weeping, and said: Fair
brother, God knoweth mine intent. Ah, fair brother, ye have done full
evil this day to slay such an holy priest the which never trespassed.
Also ye have slain a gentle knight, and one of our fellows. And well
wot ye that I am not afeared of you greatly, but I dread the wrath of
God, and this is an unkindly war, therefore God show miracle upon us
both. Now God have mercy upon me though I defend my life against my
brother; with that Bors lift up his hand and would have smitten his
brother.
CHAPTER XVII
HOW THERE CAME A VOICE WHICH CHARGED SIR BORS TO TOUCH HIM NOT, AND OF
A CLOUD THAT CAME BETWEEN THEM
And then he heard a voice that said: Flee Bors, and touch him not, or
else thou shall slay him. Right so alit a cloud betwixt them in
likeness of a fire and a marvellous flame, that both their two shields
burnt. Then were they sore afraid, that they fell both to the earth,
and lay there a great while in a swoon. And when they came to
themself, Bors saw that his brother had no harm; then he held up both
his hands, for he dread God had taken vengeance upon him. With that he
heard a voice say: Bors, go hence, and bear thy brother no longer
fellowship, but take thy way anon right to the sea, for Sir Percivale
abideth thee there. Then he said to his brother: Fair sweet brother,
forgive me for God's love all that I have trespassed unto you. Then he
answered: God forgive it thee and I do gladly. So Sir Bors departed
from him and rode the next way to the sea. And at the last by fortune
he came to an Abbey which was nigh the sea. That night Bors rested him
there; and in his sleep there came a voice to him and bad him go to
the sea. Then he start up and made a sign of the Cross in the middes
of his forehead, and took his harness, and made ready his horse, and
mounted upon him; and at a broken wall he rode out, and rode so long
till that he came to the sea. And on the strand he found a ship
covered all with white samite, and he alit, and betook him to Jesu
Christ. And as soon as he entered into the ship, the ship departed
into the sea, and went so fast that him seemed the ship went flying,
but it was soon dark so that he might know no man, and so he slept
till it was day. Then he awaked, and saw in middes of the ship a
knight lie all armed save his helm. Then knew he that it was Sir
Percivale of Wales, and then he made of him right great joy; but Sir
Percivale was abashed of him, and he asked him what he was. Ah, fair
sir, said Bors, know ye me not? Certes, said he, I marvel how ye came
hither, but if Our Lord brought ye hither Himself. Then Sir Bors
smiled and did off his helm. Then Percivale knew him, and either made
great joy of other, that it was marvel to hear. Then Bors told him how
he came into the ship, and by whose admonishment; and either told
other of their temptations, as ye have heard toforehand. So went they
downward in the sea, one while backward, another while forward, and
every each comforted other, and oft were in their prayers. Then said
Sir Percivale: We lack nothing but Galahad, the good knight.
_And thus endeth the syxteenth book, whiche is of syre Gawayne, Ector
de marys, and syre Bors de ganys, and sir Percyval.
And here followeth the sevententh book, whiche is of the noble Knyghte
syre Galahad._
THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK
CHAPTER I
HOW SIR GALAHAD FOUGHT AT A TOURNAMENT, AND HOW HE WAS KNOWN OF SIR
GAWAINE AND SIR ECTOR DE MARIS
Now saith this story, when Galahad had rescued Percivale from the
twenty knights, he yede then into a waste forest wherein he rode many
journeys; and he found many adventures the which he brought to an end,
whereof the story maketh here no mention. Then he took his way to the
sea on a day, and it befel as he passed by a castle where was a wonder
tournament, but they without had done so much that they within were
put to the worse, yet were they within good knights enough. When
Galahad saw that those within were at so great a mischief that men
slew them at the entry of the castle, then he thought to help them,
and put a spear forth and smote the first that he fell to the earth,
and the spear brake to pieces. Then he drew his sword and smote there
as they were thickest, and so he did wonderful deeds of arms that all
they marvelled. Then it happed that Gawaine and Sir Ector de Maris
were with the knights without. But when they espied the white shield
with the red cross the one said to the other: Yonder is the good
knight, Sir Galahad, the haut prince: now he should be a great fool
which should meet with him to fight. So by adventure he came by Sir
Gawaine, and he smote him so hard that he clave his helm and the
coiffe of iron unto his head, so that Gawaine fell to the earth; but
the stroke was so great that it slanted down to the earth and carved
the horse's shoulder in two. When Ector saw Gawaine down he drew him
aside, and thought it no wisdom for to abide him, and also for natural
love, that he was his uncle. Thus through his great hardiness he beat
aback all the knights without. And then they within came out and
chased them all about. But when Galahad saw there would none turn
again he stole away privily so that none wist where he was become. Now
by my head, said Gawaine to Ector, now are the wonders true that were
said of Launcelot du Lake, that the sword which stuck in the stone
should give me such a buffet that I would not have it for the best
castle in this world; and soothly now it is proved true, for never ere
had I such a stroke of man's hand. Sir, said Ector, meseemeth your
quest is done. And yours is not done, said Gawaine, but mine is done,
I shall seek no further. Then Gawaine was borne into a castle and
unarmed him, and laid him in a rich bed, and a leech found that he
might live, and to be whole within a month. Thus Gawaine and Ector
abode together, for Sir Ector would not away till Gawaine were whole.
And the good knight, Galahad, rode so long till he came that night to
the Castle of Carboneck; and it befel him thus that he was benighted
in an hermitage. So the good man was fain when he saw he was a knight
errant. Then when they were at rest there came a gentlewoman knocking
at the door, and called Galahad, and so the good man came to the door
to wit what she would. Then she called the hermit: Sir Ulfin, I am a
gentlewoman that would speak with the knight which is with you. Then
the good man awaked Galahad, and bad him: Arise, and speak with a
gentlewoman that seemeth hath great need of you. Then Galahad went to
her and asked her what she would. Galahad, said she, I will that ye
arm you, and mount upon your horse and follow me, for I shall show you
within these three days the highest adventure that ever any knight
saw. Anon Galahad armed him, and took his horse, and commended him to
God, and bad the gentlewoman go, and he would follow there as she
liked.